


don't follow me (you'll end up in my arms)

by raindropwaltz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: ASOIAF/Game of Thrones AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, F/M, Forbidden Love, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, allusions to past trysts, at least it definitely feels that way, dancing is always how it happens isn't it, different tags/ratings for different chapters, does that surprise anyone??, hey check it out this is multichapter now!, it only surprises padmé a little, just a brief interlude during an otherwise probably boring Function™, obi-wan is actually good at dancing, this can be taken a number of ways so enjoy as you like, with absolutely no offense to the organas as i'm certain they throw a delightful party all the same
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22706434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raindropwaltz/pseuds/raindropwaltz
Summary: " he knows they aren't serving toniray. it's just an excuse for himself--she doesn't bother with anything like that. "now a collection of various oneshots & microfics from twitter. canonverse & various AUs. some of these are standalone, but others fit together & are meant for other fics i've written.individual warnings & ratings are always at the beginning of each chapter.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115





	1. that time the mission went slightly sideways

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter is pretty straightforward: a bodyguarding mission that goes...just a little off course.  
> rating: T  
> i actually did this for a doodle i posted a week or so ago, [here on my twitter or ](https://twitter.com/xkhaleesea/status/1224241621312688130?s=20)[here on tumblr. c:](https://shierak-inavva.tumblr.com/post/190629529097/%F0%9D%98%B5%F0%9D%98%A9%F0%9D%98%A2%F0%9D%98%B5-%F0%9D%98%B5%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%AE%F0%9D%98%A6-%F0%9D%98%B5%F0%9D%98%A9%F0%9D%98%A6-%F0%9D%98%AE%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%B4%F0%9D%98%B4%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%B0%F0%9D%98%AF-%F0%9D%98%B8%F0%9D%98%A6%F0%9D%98%AF%F0%9D%98%B5-%F0%9D%98%B4%F0%9D%98%AD%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%A8%F0%9D%98%A9%F0%9D%98%B5%F0%9D%98%AD%F0%9D%98%BA-%F0%9D%98%B4%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%A5%F0%9D%98%A6%F0%9D%98%B8%F0%9D%98%A2%F0%9D%98%BA%F0%9D%98%B4)  
> 

This hadn’t been a particularly stimulating mission—a simple enough guard assignment that the Council had insinuated a bit firmly was for his benefit after being stuck in some nasty business on Devaron recently that had been more or less a close call because he’d been so tired lately.  
“A needed break this may be, Master Kenobi,” Master Yoda had nodded at him, “Familiar faces you will see, yes—and a guard Senator Amidala needs.”

That had silenced his complaints, much as he would not admit it.

Alderaan was a welcome enough locale, too; Bail Organa was one of the few politicians he found he could tolerate for long and his wife Breha was just as pleasant company as he was.  
Not that he would be spending time with them so much this evening.  
No, he was on guard duty. Guard duty for Senator Amidala.  
“Padmé,” she reminded him gently as he greeted she and her small entourage before they could depart, smiling in that friendly way she did that made him smile before he could realize he was returning the expression. He liked the effect she had on him, he could admit that to himself—it was a quiet change from his more rigid persona affected around politicians especially in general, but it put him at ease in a welcome way. He wasn't the only one to notice this, either, which gave a little more credence to it but also made him clear his throat some and look away when Sabé shot him a very amused little smirk. He could have rolled his eyes; of course Sabé knew. Sabé knew everything--and if Sabé knew, then Dormé knew as well, and sure enough she was struggling to repress a grin of her own when he glanced her way. Obi-Wan held in a sigh, but still smiled at the two women. He'd known them both too long now to be surprised--or bothered--by this at all. They were staying on Coruscant tonight as it was; only Typho was traveling with them, and only to pilot.

She was in blue tonight; a gown glimmering with little pale stones and gold floral embroidery. Her dark hair was spun back in braids and pinned with a gold crescent comb like a crown, nestled in a cloud of white flowers and strings of pearls. The gown draped, but still boasted her slim figure—he’d found himself staring in spite of himself first when she’d been boarding her ship, and then again when she was addressing the congregation at dinner, but now that was all done with and guests were dancing and mingling, and Obi-Wan was trying to enjoy himself just the same.  
He ended up enjoying some Alderaanian wine in the pursuit of that; not enough to impede him, of course—he WAS still on assignment, after all—but apparently enough to make him more amenable to dancing.

“Do you know this one?” Senator Amidala was at his side suddenly, smiling as other guests were pairing off to sweep over the dance floor to the music.  
“Oh I don’t dance, Senator,” he demurred, a hand up and a polite smile on his face, “And I am supposed to be here as a bodyguard, not a dance partner.” She took his hands anyway. He didn’t stop her. This felt like a game again; tonight she was the leader.  
“Padmé,” she reminded him quietly, and he felt something in his chest tighten slightly as she led him towards the dancing throng, “And won’t it be much easier to guard me if you’re close? Dancing seems like a good way to stay close and see the room,” she nodded at the flow of bodies that she was trying to get him to enter with her. He was sure this was the wine.  
“One dance,” he obliged, “But I warn you I’ll be a much more disappointing partner than your other options here—and I’ll have to ask you not to hold it against the Jedi if I wound your pride—or your feet.” She laughed at this and Obi-Wan found himself smiling again.  
“Have I found a weakness in Master Kenobi?” She feigned shock, “But, I give you my word that I won’t hold any shortcomings of yours against any other Jedi.”  
He let her guide their hands into the same position as the other dancing couples, and then slip into flow with them. They were close now, and he realized with a very quick jolt that his hand on her back was on bare skin. A backless dress. Of course it was; how could he have forgotten.

This was entirely too familiar, entirely too natural. They fell into step with the other dancers and he felt…peaceful, really. This felt like something he had been avoiding for a long time, and allowing himself to bask in it like this felt wrong—a thought he managed to push aside for the time being, at least. She might have led them onto the floor, but she was following him now in the dance steps.  
“I think you lied to me,” She spoke up quietly after a time, and his brow went up and then knit slightly.  
“Lied to you? Why would you think that?”  
“Because you dance as well as someone with practice.”

  
There was a beat of silence as he studied her face a moment, but she was smiling very softly.  
“I never said I _couldn’t_ ,” he admitted, “Only that I don’t.” He felt her hand shift in his grasp.  
“Why not? Is dancing against the Jedi Code, too? I find that surprising, I’ve seen how you all fight with your lightsabers.” She was teasing, and he couldn’t help but grin down at her.  
“A bit like a dance, sometimes. That’s a clever remark, Senator.”  
“Is it? I didn’t think it was all that clever,” she laughed softly, “But you seem pleased with the subject change.” He let out a breath of laughter in spite of himself.  
“That obvious? Your senses might be more attuned than mine.”  
“They aren’t. I just know when someone is hiding something they don’t want to talk about, that’s all.” He sobered at this. Her smile was gentle, but there was something understanding about it that set him more at ease with letting the topic go.  
“Not from personal experience, I hope.” Her lips quirked up slightly.  
“No more personal than your dancing experience, I imagine.” He felt his smile tug up some.  
“Fair enough.”

The music slowed and they had both realized by then that they’d gone through more than one dance, but neither said anything. The night was peaceful; Obi-Wan did have the mind to wonder just what he was even doing here when Senator Amidala was on _Alderaan_ , of all planets, but it was fleeting. Master Yoda had been right, he’d needed this bit of rest, and if it was Council-mandated that he be the one here tonight he would not complain.   
Padmé was half resting against him by now, her head not quite touching his shoulder. He could smell the flowers in her hair, though. Feel her fingers curled around his where they clasped hands, feel her free hand on his shoulder start to slide closer to his neck. His own hand had stayed very dutifully in its place on her back, high enough to remain decent, even if his fingers had fanned out a little by now. They’d had quiet conversation about dinner, about the music, even about the war, if briefly. She was pleasant, easy conversation. She always had been; he admired the fierce sense of justice she had, tempered by her understanding of duty, of responsibility.  
Perhaps she might have made a good Jedi herself, in another life.  
“Years ago I learned how to dance,” he spoke on a whim, after silence had fallen for a moment too long. This was certainly the wine. Padmé took a slight breath; he could feel the surprise in her at his sudden topic-change.  
“Oh?”  
“I’m surprised I remember it all, really.”  
“I’m not. We remember things, experiences, with people we cared about most. Sometimes even just the smallest moments or details stay with us the longest, if they had meaning.” He found he wasn’t sure what to say to that; only nodded gratefully and squeezed her hand in return.  
“Yes,” he murmured at length, “I suppose you’re right.”

Padmé’s head finally touched his shoulder, and it felt as if the last bit of tension in him dissolved. His hand wandered only a bit further down her back, but it drew her in closer, and that was even more welcome right now. Her hand on his collar slid around to cradle the back of his neck and they moved too close and too quiet, a pregnant silence between them as she turned to gaze up at him and found him gazing right back—the look in his blue eyes made her breath hitch and she felt very exposed, but couldn’t look away or pull back.  
She had her secrets, just like she knew he did. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator, who had helped save her people so many years ago, who helped lead the Clone Armies for the Republic, who had always seemed so untouchable and so closed-off…but sometimes he looked at her and Padmé could see it in his eyes, the years of fighting and loss, the fact that there was a man beneath the Jedi robes and Code.  
Right now, it made her shiver.

He felt it, the tremor run through her, and immediately his hands began to retract from her, reminded swiftly that they were in public—but she caught his wrist with a gentle hand and led him away from the crowd without a word, and he let her, followed her again. This was the wine.  
They slipped through the other partygoers easily enough, managing not to attract too much attention while people were still drinking and chatting, and found a door out onto one of the open-air balconies, quiet and secluded and overgrown with some kind of very green, very soft, lattice of vines. The air was crisp but not cold, though the sudden quiet around them was more of a shock than the temperature change.

Padmé moved them out of view of the ballroom as a precaution, swallowing quietly as she stopped more abruptly than perhaps she intended or he expected, and he was once again pressed against her for a moment, nearly backing her into the wall of green leaves.  
“Obi-Wan,” she breathed, trying to figure out what to say. What did she want to say? So many things.  
“We should be inside,” he replied finally, quietly. Notably still not moving away from her.  
“We should be,” she agreed, her eyes on his, nearly challenging him to defy this moment they’d found themselves in and take her back into the ballroom. Neither of them moved.  
Until finally one of them did.  
A half-step forward from him, and Padmé’s back was against the lush vines, cool and smooth on her bare skin. White flowers in her hair and surrounded by green she looked like she was on Naboo again, or else some vision or dream or other. _White flowers in her hair, night blue and green surrounding her..._ and Obi-Wan held in a breath, even as his hands drifted up to press into the vines on either side of her torso. The moment was trancelike; it _felt_ almost like a dream or a vision in how quiet and slow things seemed to move between them.  
Her eyes were fixed to his and his to hers, but he could just see her lips parting slightly, and she could feel him press just slightly closer to her. She could smell it—that strange scent he carried on him, like a battlefield even this far away. He could smell the flowers in her hair, the perfume she always wore, and wished there was more time to recall the memories it carried with it.

When he dipped his head to press his lips to hers, there was no more wine to blame anything on.

His beard brushed her chin, somehow wiry and soft all at once. One of her slim hands lifted to rest on his chest, ready to pull him closer or distance them both, should the need arise.  
When they parted and his forehead pressed to hers, she swore their breathing could mist the air.  
“Padmé,” he breathed out, and she shuddered against him, even if she heard the regret in his tone.  
“I know,” she whispered, her fingers curling into his collar for a brief moment. She could pull him in again, _wanted_ to pull him in again. But he was not hers. Her eyes traveled down and she took a deep breath, trying to calm her heartbeat. He was not hers—even if he had been, on Naboo. On Pantora, once. On Coruscant.  
He was not hers, and she was not his. That was how it was. How it had to remain. 

His hand curled around hers on his collar.  
Her eyes lifted to meet his again. Just a man. Just a woman. Just a moment longer.

There was a noise, in the end, that had him pressing her back into the vines as if to shield her from any sudden onlookers before he could think better of it. Someone had knocked into the balcony doors, nothing more, but a close call was a close call. They pulled apart, slowly, breathing hard and trying to regain composure. Obi-Wan smoothed down his tunic, and Padmé her gown--already the loss of body heat and weight was sinking in but by now, both Jedi and senator were well rehearsed in resisting.

  
Padmé was the first to turn back towards the ballroom, taking a deep breath and doing another brush-off over her gown, but she stopped when she felt his hand on her wrist, and before she could turn around he was directly behind her, stopping her from fully turning. She could just barely feel something in her hair, and then his mouth was near her ear,  
“A leaf.”  
She could have laughed at how silly it seemed, but the brush of his nose against her hair and the prickle of his beard on her ear made her belly clench in spite of things, her head turning just slightly as if seeking a final kiss, but not enough to fully commit to the request. She could feel his hand wander to her shoulder and then fall away, finally, and she sighed softly. There were no more _‘this is the last time’_ s or _‘this can’t happen again’_ s—spoken or unspoken. They both knew better, and still found themselves here time and time again, and by that point it was past apparent that halfhearted reprimands weren’t going to stop them.  
_Guilt might, one day,_ seemed to echo somewhere between them, but that, too, was never put into words.  
“Thank you.” He gave the barest nod, slowly releasing her wrist and stepping back, gaining the distance he needed to separate himself from her completely before moving to open the balcony door for her. Tonight would stop here, he thought firmly, this was too public and they were in too familiar company.  
“After you, Senator,” his tone was diplomatic and detached again, and Padmé lifted her skirt and swept past him into the ballroom once more.

It wasn’t until an overheard conversation about departure drifted over to the two of them that they realized there was a return trip to Coruscant ahead of them still.


	2. a one-time thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oneshot to accompany ['like a page right out of ernest hemingway'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948825/chapters/54857878)
> 
> rating: E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is set in my 'hemingway' modern au, and deals with adultery that's mentioned&alluded to.  
> this is definitely NSFW, but it's very much 'porn with feelings'.

They're waiting with the concierge at her apartment complex: a mass of pink roses, a bottle of her favorite perfume. There's no note, but she knows where they came from anyway.

She sighs, taking everything upstairs and setting the perfume on her vanity table. The roses, though... the roses she settles with on the little chaise she has in the master bedroom. They're beautiful; fresh and fragrant, that pretty powdery pink she's always loved. That's how she knows, really.  
Anakin buys red roses. She _likes_ red roses.

Ben Kenobi bought her a pink rose every so often when she first worked as an intern, when he and Quinn were still detectives. She'd told him once they were her favorites, and sometimes one would pop up on her desk. They made her smile; every odd one-off time she got one. She buries her face in the soft petals and inhales softly.  
They're her favorite.  
Her phone buzzes and breaks her out of her reverie. The only unknown number she knows by heart.  
"I can't keep these," she sighs softly. He sounds amused.  
"Of course you can. That's why I sent them." Her lips twist up a little and she shifts in place on the sofa, holding the phone more comfortably.  
"What am I supposed to say? A secret admirer sent them?" She makes a face, and he chuckles.  
"As if you haven't got any of those." Her brow arches.  
"You don't count." He laughs at this, and it makes her smile in spite of herself. "Ben...I can't keep them." He sobers some.  
"Not even saying you got them for yourself?" She hadn't considered this. Stubbornly, she insists.  
"He wouldn't believe that." She can hear the little _'hah'_ from him.  
"Then," he starts, low and quiet, that voice that means she's going to hate what he's about to offer but agree anyways, "bring them here. I'll keep them for you."

She just _knows_ he's grinning. She hates, more than the suggestion, how pleasant the shiver it sends through her is.

"I can't stay," she warns quietly. "I'll have to leave befo--"  
"Then come soon," he stops her, and she has to pause, grit her teeth a little at how terrible she feels about wanting this so badly.  
Finally: "I'll be there as soon as you send a car."  


•  


It doesn't take long. She has enough time to change clothes and put on the perfume he sent--and then plenty of time on the ride there to tell herself this is absolutely a one-time thing and that this...has to stop happening. Period.  
These car rides, where she's swallowing down guilt even as she thinks about the lingerie she's wearing. The walk up into his building, the fluttering in her chest like she's on some first date. The trip in the elevator, thinking about the look in his eyes every time he sees her--and _absolutely_ the look in his eyes when he sees her--because it's entirely too much, so much more than she signed on for, so much more than she can afford, here, because even if she won't admit it to herself she knows she's got the same damn look in her own eyes. This was supposed to be no strings, no emotions.   
She wonders, as he takes the roses and sets them aside for her just so he can pull her into his arms, why she was stupid enough to actually believe that would go as planned.  
His hands on her dress and hers on his lapels--and this is supposed to be simple and unattached, as they pull each other into hungry kisses that are somehow _tender_ in a way that makes her feel afraid.  
Mostly, deep down, of herself.

  
"You absolutely cannot do that again," she gasps against his lips as they stumble past the roses on the coffee table.  
"Is that an order, or a threat?" he chuckles against her chin, hands finding her zipper already.  
"It's both," she warns, working at the buttons of his shirt.  
"Oh," he nips her nose and his hands roam over her back, laughter in his voice, "you know, that is my favorite thing to hear from you, district attorney..." She yanks a bit at his collar, irked momentarily and getting his attention.  
"I mean it," she meets his eyes, "really, Ben." He takes a quiet breath and meets her gaze sincerely, giving a nod and rubbing the small of her back gently.  
"Well," he sighs, and she knows he understands her but he's going to keep things light, "they did get you here quick enough." She makes a face before she kisses him again.

  
•  
  


Their time together is stolen in every sense of the word--she shouldn't be here and they both know it--but she thinks on the list of things that need to stop, and the absolute bliss she feels in his arms needs to be at the very top.  
His hands know their way to her skin just as hers know their way to his, but he's got a hand in her panties before they can both get totally undressed, pressing her back against the wall of his bedroom and coaxing her thighs apart.  
  
"Ben--" she groans and grasps at his shoulders. "God," she grits her teeth a little and shudders at his practiced, probing fingers, "you're going to ruin these--" He sucks a little harder at the spot he's currently picked on her throat and she jerks, fearing a mark and feeling his thumb brush her clit at the same time.  
"I am?" He laughs breathless against her ear, making her shiver again as his fingers still work between her legs. She can feel his fingers getting slick and moans as his nose buries in her hair, "I think you're doing most of the ruining here, darling..."  
She could debate that.  
  
Her fingers rake over the back of his neck and run up into the short hair at the back of his head and his are inside her, his free hand cradling her head almost too tenderly for how quick and harsh the hand in her panties is. She's rocking her hips against his hand and biting her lips as he kisses along her jaw, coaxing her to a quick first climax--  
" _Right there,_ " she whines, tossing her head against the wall, and he obliges, rubbing as she's grinding against his hand.  
"Let go," he tuts playfully. It takes another moment or two, and a graze of his teeth just below her ear. She's so tightly wound from work and everything else day-to-day and she hasn't seen him in a week and--his fingers tangle into her hair and tug lightly as he bites at her neck, fingers curling.

_Oh._

She arches against the wall and lets out a little squeal, bucking her hips against his hand as she comes. Her panties come off after that, get tossed to the side along with his pants. She's breathless as he kisses her and they stumble to the bed together. A quick first orgasm.  
  
That’s something she thinks about, if hazily, as she runs her hands down his chest, feels the backs of her legs hit the bed. A _first_ orgasm. She’s never left him without two, minimum, and that fact makes her hips roll against his as his hands run down over the curve of her ass. Her fingers find the waistband of his underwear and it’s when she finally frees him from them that they break from their kisses, breathing hard and checking in with their eyes as his hands palm her ass lightly and her fingertips trail along the underside of his cock. She palms him in turn, stroking slow and deliberate, and his hands run up along the contour of her back, drawing her in when he reaches her neck in an attempt to stop her.  
“Mmn, you were the one who said you were short on time,” he rumbles against her ear, and she nips at his jaw.  
“Trying to speed this along?” His thumbs massage her neck as he kisses her again, deep and lingering.  
“Well, in observance of your time constraints,” he groans a little when her grip tightens some around the base of his erection but manages to continue diplomatically, “I’m willing to make some sacrifices.” He turns, pulls her onto the comforter with him. He pins her, leaning over her and letting her shift around a bit against the pillows before dipping his head to kiss her again, one knee nudging her legs apart. She complies easily, tucks her knees up a little.  
  
Being with Ben is not like being with—with... _him_. She tries not to think about that--about him--during their time, but sometimes it’s inescapable. Ben is older, more practiced, less rushed and more calculated; in all things, really, but of course that would extend to the bedroom.  
  
He slips a hand between her legs again briefly as they both settle in, and she gasps against his mouth at how sensitive she still is, but how good it feels all the same. He pulls back a moment to meet her eyes, free hand propped by her head as she wraps her legs around him. This is not the first time. She recalls, through the soft fog clouding her head, that this _is_ supposed to be the last. Her legs tighten around him to urge him down and she nods as confirmation, knowing that's what he's after every time, as if ensuring she hasn't changed her mind.  
Her arms are around his shoulders and their foreheads press together as he eases into her, and they groan in unison at the feeling. Maybe she _should_ have changed her mind.  
Spared herself the sensation of _wholeness_ she gets every time he's buried inside her.  
Spared herself the painful bliss of knowing what being totally sated and cared for feels like.  
Helped herself forget faster how his hands feel on every place he's memorized she loves, how startlingly lush his tawny beard is against her skin, under her fingertips, on her lips.  
  
They rock against each other and she clings to his shoulders, his neck. He wraps an arm around her waist and lifts her hips, presses their bodies closer together and she has to stop trying to meet his thrusts but that doesn't lessen any pleasure for either of them anyways.  
She realizes, feeling him cradling her close, that this is...something she's been missing. They've shifted again; she's gotten him to lift her up and settle back on his knees--a reminder of the strength in those arms and that torso he always keeps covered up so well--and she settles on his lap, moaning softly as she seats herself on him and feels just that much more _full_ in this position. His hands frame her back and she sees something she can't name in his blue eyes when he looks up at her like this; or...something she _refuses_ to name.  
  
To name it would be making it real--and having to acknowledge it in herself, too. And she can't do that. Especially not now.  
  
He kisses the underside of her chin as she slowly, slowly, starts to move again.  
"Perfect," he mumbles against her throat, fingers twining in her hair. She remembers how much she likes getting to be on top like this when she's with him--she can better control her side of things this way, but...she tilts her head down and meets his eyes as she rides him, and it knocks the air out of her lungs for a moment.  
Somehow she never quite gets used to this, the way he looks at her. There is no possession in his eyes, nothing harsh or dark. They're so clear and so, so blue; they're _admiring_. Proud. Tender--which is what she'll resign herself to calling it.  
  
(She knows the right word, but still won't use it.)   
  
He runs a hand up to cradle her face, slide fingers into her hair, their rhythm slow and luxurious, breathing starting to grow labored. She rests a hand on his and lets her head rest against his palm, shutting her eyes. His thumb rubs at the small of her back and she turns her head to kiss his palm. She has no idea when things got like this. Her hips start to stutter and he helps her along, rocks against her until she's grinding against him and writhing on his thighs, clenching around his cock.  
  
When did it get this way--when did their quick fucks turn into _this?_ When did she realize she needed to feel held, needed to feel this balance of tenderness and lust during lovema-- she cuts off that thought, realizing the shift. God, when did it stop being just _fucking?_  
  
Does she even really want to know? He's pressing kisses at the hinge of her jaw, under her ear, into her hair, rolling his hips against hers,  
"That's it, darling," his voice is heavy and rumbling against her skin, drawing a low whine out of her.  
" _Ben,_ " she gasps, high and needy.

  
•  


In the end, he comes before her--she bucks her hips just the right way and he buries his face against her shoulder, arms locking around her as his hips snap against hers another quick few times. She cries out at the sudden change of pace and her climax hits her just after his; they ride out their not-quite-shared orgasm together, clinging and gasping and pressed close. Her hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, holding him against her as she catches her breath. His hands stroke her back, and he turns his head a bit to look up at her.  
"Sometimes I think you do that on purpose," he huffs, and her fingers idly toy with his hair.  
"Do what on purpose?" She almost laughs, and he takes hold of her hips, shifts against her to better look at her. She shudders at the feeling--he's still inside and she's still tingly.  
  
But then he's lurching forward and pressing her back against his pillows, making her yelp in surprise and laugh breathlessly with him as he follows her, dappling her face with kisses. This isn't what it should be, and she knows it. He knows it. They pretend a bit longer, anyways.  
Her arms loop around his neck, and when he gazes down at her she thinks, for the most fleeting moment,   
  
_What if things had always been this way?_  
  
He gives her another of his awful, beautiful, cheeky grins, and kisses her. The thought vanishes again.

  
•  


Later on she's collected her clothes, rinsed her panties (grimacing and forcing him to let her use his hair dryer) and he's chuckling into a glass of whiskey as he watches her. He catches her wrist as she passes the roses on the coffee table on her way out, and she stops, turns. What little was left of the resolve to say 'no more' in her dies when she sees his expression in the low light.  
"No more roses," he murmurs against her forehead, pulling her in close. She sighs, shutting her eyes and shaking her head.  
"None." he runs a hand through her hair.  
"Not even one?" He teases, and she eyes the bouquet. Selfishly, she wants this to belong to him.  
"Not unless they're here." He seems to grasp this, even without her explaining. He kisses her too softly.  
"Another secret," he tuts, noncommittal.  
"Goodnight," she turns, but he holds her just a moment longer.   
"Padmé," he breathes, and she swallows hard, knows time's up.  
"I have to go, Ben." And slowly, he releases her.

She sighs in the car on the way home. If all her secrets could just be roses.


	3. off-ledger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canonverse oneshot--this can be considered part of the same story as the first chapter, or a standalone.
> 
> rating: E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is straight up PWP. like. this is just nsfw, 'hey let's bang'.  
> canonverse setting, undercover secret hookup.

When they collide this time, it's in the middle of an assignment.

She doesn't recognize him in the slightest at first--which is a good thing, he _is_ supposed to be undercover, after all--although he's sure the helmet is what does most of the work, really. He recognizes her, though, even in the middle of the crowded nightclub. Force signature aside, he knows her eyes anywhere. What he's confused about is _why_ she's there in the first place.  
Swiftly, he circles around behind her in the crowd and his hand finds her wrist. Immediately she's tense, as he expected, but before she can do anything else he leans close enough to keep his voice down, even with the helmet's modulator.  
"What are you doing here?" He feels her head turn slightly towards his, feels a flicker of uncertainty in her.  
“Who--"  
"This is hardly the kind of place I would expect to run into a senator," there's an edge of teasing to his voice, "or, at least certainly not _you_ of all people." She pulls free and turns to face him, brow shooting up as her voice stays down.  
 _"Obi-Wan?"_  
“I can't answer that at the moment," he coughs, and she looks dubious until he leans a little closer again. "It's Ben for now," and that satisfies her for the time being.  
"What are _you_ doing here?" She asks, remaining near the wall with him as the music pulses and the crowds of beings from all over the galaxy dance and drink around them. They face the rest of the club, as unassuming as anyone else.  
"I'm looking for someone," he replies evenly, pulling her back to his chest and out of the way of a massive creature drunkenly stumbling by. She doesn't pull away.  
"Oh?" There's laughter in her tone as she rests against him.  
“Unfortunately not you, senator," he replies, and let his hands rest on her waist. She grins, shrugging slowly.  
"I see."  
"Which brings me once again to my first question: what are _you_ doing here?" She takes a little breath, hips shifting against the armored belt at his waist.  
“I'm actually here looking for someone myself," she replies, breath hitching slightly when his stance widens and she winds up between his legs. This is new--the setting and the outfit both. She isn't used to the hard edges or the gloves, and definitely not the helmet.  
"Not a bounty hunter, I hope," Padmé shivers, the unfamiliar modulated sound of his voice making her skin prickle.  
"I can't say I mind running into this one," she breathes out, and feels one of his gloved hands wander down her thigh. "Even if I wasn't looking."  
  


•

  
The venue is emboldening both of them. This would be far too public otherwise--but no one is so much as glancing their way and with his helmet and her out of her typical senatorial clothing they aren't anything to blink twice at.  
She reaches down to rest a hand on his wrist. At her back, she feels him shift against the wall and slides a hand back to his hip, feeling the holster there.  
"This is new," she remarks, and he chuckles under the helmet, hands roaming her waist through her thin dress. Her breathing deepens, and his arm curls firm around her waist.

It's been a few weeks since he's seen her, and feeling her against him this way is making it hard to focus. He tries reminding himself he's supposed to be on a mission, but it's been completely fruitless all night, he can't sense the target, hasn't seen them, and has been considering leaving anyways--and when she moves none of that seemes very important anymore.  
And suddenly the new clothing feels constricting.  
“I'm not sure how I feel about this, though," she raises her hand from his hip to tap the helmet.  
"No?" His voice sounds breathless even to his own ears, and she shakes her head.  
"It's...growing on me, I think," she swallows as her dress hitches up her thigh, caught on his glove. His fingers dance near her inner thigh and she groans, head tilting back against his shoulder. He tuts at her, even though he can feel his own restraint start to crumble. This is _not_ the place for any of this, but...

Padmé's hips roll against his and her fingers tighten around his wrist. He doesn't think his target is even here, anyways.  
"Now senator, you wouldn't want to cause a scene..." The cool metal of his helmet presses against her ear, "you'll have to be a little quieter." She bites her lip.  
Part of her is amused at how he seems to be playing this part he's in, and another part of her is very, very much enjoying it already. She gives a little nod and feels her skin prickle with anticipation, her eyes still on the rest of the club crowds. He holds her flush against his chest with one arm, the other continuing to tease, sliding indecently between her legs and brushing fingertips over her inner thigh.  
Between the metal helmet against her head, the rough glove pads on her skin, and the fact anyone could be watching...her skirt slides just a bit higher as his hand brushes the thin silk of her panties and she gasps, face blooming pink. She swallows hard, heart pounding—if he wasn't wearing his glove, he would feel that the flimsy fabric was damp.   
She has a feeling he knows anyways.  
  
Even without physically feeling it, Obi-Wan can tell by her reaction and the emotions she's absolutely radiating what's going on. His throat constricts. They shouldn't be doing this. Not at all, but definitely not _here_.  
The hand holding her against him slides up under her breasts. She inhales sharply through her nose as his palm rests over her ribcage and the hand between her legs slides two fingers over her through her panties. Her eyes shut and she groans against her teeth, lower lip caught between them.  
"Shhh," comes his modded voice at her ear again. "Quiet, darling." Her hand tightens around his wrist and she lets out a pant.  
"Someone will see," she gasps softly, and turns around in his grasp to face him. A blush had crept over her pretty face and her lips are darkened from her teeth already. His hands sit on her hips. Quietly, hesitantly,  
"Do you want me to let you go?" She can't see his face, but she knows what's behind the helmet just then anyways. She swallows, giving the barest shake of her head.  
"No."  
Her hands drift to the clasp of his belt, and she feels him jolt just slightly.

They find a side door, quickly.

•

It's a darkened alley they stumble into, empty and narrow. The moment the door shuts behind them she reaches to pull him in for a kiss and finds the helmet still there, pausing with her hands on either side of it. For a moment she considers leaving it on. He pauses with her, and then lifts it off himself, letting it clatter to the ground beside them and wasting no time in pressing her back against the outer wall of the club, mouth crashing onto hers. Unceremonious and hungry, he isn't proud of this sort of behavior--but she kisses him just the same, and he can't stop. The fact that it has in fact been _weeks_ now comes into full focus the second he tastes her, and his hips buck under her hands when he feels them trying for a way to get past his clothing.

He has to help her, in the end, reaching with one hand, refusing to stop kissing her. Every kiss is punctuated with a gasp, a little groan, and him shushing her softly before just silencing her with another kiss anyways. (Though it's to quiet himself, too, if he's honest.) The moment she frees his cock, however, he groans against her lips and she pulls back, breathing hard and meeting his eyes. He's flushed too--his hair slightly unkempt from the helmet, his blue eyes bright even in the dim alley. Padmé feels her panties soak through at the sight. She pumps him a few quick times as he hitches her skirt up, and his eyes widen some when he slides her panties down and can see and _hear_ just how wet she is.  
"It's been _weeks_ ," she whispers fervently, wrapping an arm around his neck. "I need you."  
He kisses her again, deep and devouring, and drags her hips up to his.  
“Stay quiet,” he mumbles against her lips, letting her help position them properly. She just nods, kissing him again as he presses inside of her at last.  
Padmé arches against the wall and moanes into the kiss, and Obi-Wan’s hands grasp her hips as he slowly thrusts deeper. They don’t have the luxury of time just then, though—once she’s relaxed enough she breaks their kiss and her voice is a high, needy whine.  
“Please—stars— _Obi-Wan_ —“ He snaps his hips against hers at the sound of his name, and she lets out a cry.  
A gloved hand covers her mouth.

His blue eyes burn into hers in the dark and for a painfully long moment he stops moving.  
"You've got to keep quiet," his voice is firm, and he doesn't wait for a response before rolling his hips back up, slow and deliberate, into hers. He watches her eyelids flutter and has to bite in a groan, eyes clenching shut briefly. He wishes they had more time, wishes they didn't have to be covert about this--or...at least...not _this_ covert about it. She grasps at the front of his thick tunic for a moment and then braces herself against the wall, leveraging to rock her hips back against his, and when he feels a soft noise vibrate against his glove on her mouth, something in him seems to snap.

Her fingers try for purchase at the wall, palm pressing into the uneven surface so she can meet his thrusts with her own--she can feel it when something shifts after she moans against his glove, letting his palm eat the sound while his cock slams hard into her. He hadn't been this rough with her...ever, she thinks, definitely not like this. The faint taste of leather and smoke from his glove on her lips, his labored breathing and the faint sound of their hips meeting, the expression on his face--and the rush of their surroundings...the fact anyone might see them....  
The fact they shouldn't be doing this _at all_ and the fact it's turning her on so much--but then, she sees the look on his face and feels his hips buck into hers when she meets his eyes, and she knows he's enjoying it just as much.  
Stars, it's _good_.

  
Her arm wraps around his neck and she pulls him close, brow knitting as she feels that familiar, delicious pressure building in her belly. He hitches one of her legs up over his hip and presses her back hard against the wall, pinning her so she's effectively at his mercy. Padmé whines against his palm at the new angle and he presses his forehead to hers, hammering into her body at a quick, rough pace.  
"I wish I could hear you," he groans quietly, that same tenderness that was all _him_ even in a situation like this.   
It makes her clench around him and _shudder_.

His hips stutter and she arches her back when he hits that perfect spot, grinding against it as best she can and whimpering desperately, the sound vibrating in her throat. His fingers dig into her thigh and she sees his jaw clench and _force_ she almost comes right then. He grunts, feeling her writhe against him, feeling the fever-hot press of her skin, the purr of every sound she'd make for him if he let her--and it finally rips a ragged groan out of him.  
"Kriff-- _Padmé_ ," he bucks into her almost to the hilt and she _sobs_ against his palm. His hand comes away from her mouth and she only manages a high, breathless gasp before his lips are on hers in a kiss that feels bruising.  
 _"Obi-Wan!"_  
His lips are burning hot and the brush of his beard on her skin is so familiar and _wanted_ \--she cries out into the kiss nearly too-loud when his hand slides between her legs. He's about to come and she rocks against him frantically to help them both along, hiccuping out a gasp when they break apart and biting down on her lips hard enough to nearly draw blood.

He comes with a groan, a few rapid snaps of his hips and a languid kiss between swollen and burning lips. His gloved thumb presses her clit and she jolts.  
"Come for me, darling," he murmurs against her mouth, low and commanding, punctuated with a deep, final thrust.   
She does.

  
•

  
As if they have all the time in the galaxy, they kiss as they might normally. His hand strokes her face as she rides out her orgasm and he holds her up, pressing close, clothing a damnable barrier.  
She lets out a shaky laugh, and he can't help but follow suit.

Pulling apart is an _ordeal_ \--they hadn't considered this bit (she certainly hadn't taken it into consideration, anyways) when they made the decision to fuck in an alleyway while still clothed and now Padmé's just laughing at how ridiculous the situation is. He has the easy half of things, and gives her a sheepish, apologetic smile as she tries to right her skirt again.  
"I suppose we acted a bit rashly," he glances off, and she snorts.  
"I think that's an understatement." Her panties are unwearable now and she wrinkles her nose. He looks back at her,  
"My apologies, senator," but the little glimmer in his eyes says quite the contrary. She laughs again, pulling him by the collar to kiss him.  
"I didn't ask for them." He cocks a brow in amusement.  
"Then they're fully revoked."  
"Good. Because that was..." she shivers and he kisses her forehead.  
"Agreed." She sighs, still full of laughter.  
"...You won't include this in your report to the Council, I assume."  
"Oh no," he gives her that typical Kenobi half-grin, his tone diplomatic, "this is strictly off-ledger."  
"I'll have to remember that." His brow rises.  
"For what?" She's heading for the door back inside, planning on finding the restroom, and grins.  
"For the next time."

She disappears back inside and he's left to snatch up his helmet and think of how not to seem too eager to take another assignment like this.


	4. a threat and a promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oneshot to accompany ['like a page right out of ernest hemingway'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22948825/chapters/54857878)
> 
> rating: T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a really short one; padmé makes a very irritated phone call and ben deflects.  
> not really any warnings; if you read this as a standalone it's pretty tame.

This is it, this is absolutely the last straw, she’s been slammed with work all day and surprise surprise, _one_ name in particular keeps popping up. She takes a little break, walks out of the building with her phone and some mail, and dials a number she knows by heart.

The line answers and immediately she’s keeping her voice hushed even on the city sidewalk outside,   
“I don’t know what shit you kicked up with Maul now, but **STOP**.”   
“‘Shit I kicked up with Maul’...not ringing any bells, darling, you’ll have to be more specific.” She lifts the phone to her mouth and her brow knits.   
“Don’t do this, don’t pull this with me. You know I can’t turn a blind eye—you’re getting too high-profile with this and I got a dossier slapped on my desk this morning for a case against Cody. I can get him out of this but—“  
“—Oh would you? for me?” He's so flippant and she grips her phone and grits her teeth.   
_“BEN!”_ Too loud, the people around her glance but nobody stops. There’s silence for a moment as she lifts the phone to her ear again.   
“Focus on Cody, get him cleared.” She’s frowning and he seems to sense it. “...As a favor to him, of course.”  
“That isn’t the point.” He sighs and she knows he’s raking a hand through his tawny hair and over his beard.   
“Then what IS your point, exactly?”   
“That I’m tired of seeing your name pop up every time I’m looking over casework. Do you know what that’s like?”

A beat of silence. 

“Do you know what this is like for me now?” She’s stopped at the corner, leaning against the brick wall of the florist a few blocks away from her office. Her voice is lower now, and he sighs quietly.   
“Love—“   
“Don’t,” she cuts him off snippily, “don’t do that.”  
“What do you want from me then, Padmé?” He sounds just as snippish as she does now.   
“I want you to stop—stop—“   
“—Running my entire business.” She closes her mouth, scowling. “Do we need to have this discussion?” His voice is low, flat. She knows there’s no point.  
“Keep your head down for a while so I can sort this out with Cody.” She knew what she was getting into when they fell into bed. She knew who he was.   
“I think I can manage that,” he responds in a measured tone, meaning he’s taken care of things he needed to already anyways.

“Come to Twin Suns later,” he asks finally, and she takes a breath at the tone shift.   
“I’m working late.”   
“Good. So am I.” she exhales slowly.   
“I can’t stay.”   
“Then don’t stay.” A pause, and she wets her lips. His voice comes again, more imploring, "Padmé, please."  
“Promise me you’ll stay low key for a few weeks.” There's a small pause, the slightest sigh from him, but then a smile in his voice.  
“Just for you.”

  
Late that night, she’s pressed back into the cushion of his personal VIP booth in a dim corner of the club and pulling him close by his lapels.   
“Keep your head down,” she growls against his hungry lips, making him chase hers, “or so help me god I’ll _personally_ deport your ass.”  
“Language, Ms. Amidala,” he sounds too amused, quirking a brow at her before dipping his head—but stopping just short of her lips. “Is that a promise?”   
“Absolutely.” She hasn’t corrected him about her name.   
“Oh good,” he kisses the corner of her lips, lingering _just_ too long.  
“Good?”   
“Now I know how I can get you to run away with me.”

She kisses him to stop the conversation. It can’t proceed, can’t be anything more than this. Just another tease, just words swallowed by each other and never dwelled upon. 

The next few weeks are, as promised, quiet.


	5. intertwine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a story set a good while before my ASOIAF/game of thrones AU, [A Song of Stars And Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/series/935646)
> 
> rated: M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no real warnings for this one, aside from some mild nsfw.  
> you don't need to be super familiar with game of thrones or the asoiaf series to understand things here, either.  
> obi-wan and padmé's first meeting in that AU.

They hadn't intended their stay in Sunspear to last near so long as it had. The Dornish were not quite what they had expected; Obi-Wan had gotten them passage here from Oldtown but now it had become a matter of sailing back north to King's Landing--or somewhere thereabouts.  
“The dragons have been gone from Westeros for years now," their Martell host had said when they'd been brought before him, "but we have heard tales of the two of you--and one straight from the lips of my sister, whose husband you aided in Highgarden. You are both welcome here."  
That had been near two weeks ago. 

  
•  
  


Obi-Wan had enjoyed the respite, if he was honest. They had been traveling and fighting for so long, some days he forgot what they were even doing anymore. In Sunspear the air was warm, and smelled like the sea. Like flowers, like lemon trees. There was music that drifted through the halls. Children's laughter echoing around the Water Gardens--and it was in the Water Gardens that he'd met her. She was one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever laid eyes upon; highborn, he knew, just from watching her.  
She'd been half in the water herself that day, in a green gown that clung to her skin and left very little to be imagined when he happened upon her.   
“Forgive me, my lady," he'd shook his head, “I thought perhaps you were a mermaid." She'd laughed, and it, too, was beautiful.

Padmé. Her name was Padmé, and he'd spent two days after that first meeting wandering the halls for a sight of her again. When it finally did come she was amidst a group of girls her age, all fair of face but none to match her. He waited for them to pass, and she trailed behind. She'd ducked with him into a grove of trees, laughing and leading him by the arm. They'd eaten blood oranges on the beach and that night she'd turned him away at her door. He was surprised, but not displeased.   
Anakin had taken to pursuits of his own. Obi-Wan allowed himself this.  
The following night they'd drank Arbor gold and danced to a harpist's music until nearly dawn, and again he slept alone. The third night she'd taken him swimming under a full moon, and they'd shared her bed. By morning Obi-Wan was half in love, and slept in her arms.

  
•

Now, nearly a week later, they'd spent most nights together--she had grown up in Dorne, but knew Westeros. She'd never been across the Narrow Sea, but wanted to see Braavos and Pentos one day. He'd told her about them both and she'd hung on every word, her pretty eyes delighted.  
He'd told her about the ancestral seat of his family's house, their island. The blue seas around it, the seashells and the golden sand. He'd told her about stories from pirates, traders, and stories he'd heard of dragons.   
“The dragons are long gone, now," he'd sighed, smiling.  
“You're still here," she'd murmured back, watching him lean over her in his bed, this time. “You, and your friend as well." He'd laughed at that.   
“You think us dragons?" Her hands played over the sides of his face, rough with his beard.   
“I know you are," she replied with a smile.  
“Oh?" He teased, easing back a bit to sit up, Padmé following suit. “Have you seen something in the flames?" She laughed with him, slowly settling astride his lap and draping her arms over his shoulders. “Are you a red witch now as well?" He joked, and she kissed him in reply.

His mouth was on her throat, her collar, at her breasts, and she groaned as she sank onto him once again that night. His hands held her hips, and her hair fell in soft curtains around them as she moved.   
“It's your eyes," she told him finally, rocking to meet his thrusts. He held her by the waist and she arched against his grasp, her dark curls trailing over the bed behind her. “Dragon eyes," she told him, and when he met her gaze she laughed breathlessly, smiled impishly, and rolled her hips against his, "and I can say i've ridden a dragon."  
They laughed together, and he tried to remember when he'd ever bedded a woman he'd laughed with this way. The list wasn't long to begin with, but not one of them had made him laugh like this. 

  
•

In the morning, he woke to her fingertips tracing his face, her doe-brown eyes on his.  
“Are you casting some spell on me?" He mumbled, tired and amused. She smiled back, shaking her head.   
“Painting," she replied. He quirked a brow.   
“Painting?"   
“I’ll remember you better this way." He roused a bit more when she said this, brow knitting slightly.   
“Will you leave?" She heaved a little breath, fingers trailing into his ruffled hair.   
“Soon. And you as well," she murmured, "you and your friend. You won't stay, and I’m afraid I cannot go." He frowned slightly at this.   
“Will you remain in Sunspear?" She smiled.   
“Some of the time."  
“Then I’ll return once we've been to King's Landing." His eyes met hers, and she looked surprised.   
“You--" He took one of her hands.   
“If I returned, would you come with me?" His eyes were so blue and full of things that made her voice come out a whisper.  
“Where?" She tilted her head against the pillow. He kissed her palm.   
“Anywhere. Pentos. Braavos."

She looked amused, after a moment.   
“You wouldn't leave him. Your friend. Anakin." Obi-Wan was quiet, and exhaled softly.   
“Perhaps you are a witch," he mumbled against her hand. She traced her thumb over his lips.   
“You would make a fine councilor," she remarked, smiling fondly. He did smile some at this.   
“Perhaps I would."   
“Perhaps I would visit, then," she smiled, that tone of voice adults used for fairy stories and bard songs, and he knew she did not mean it. He swept her in against his chest and kissed her all the same. 

  
•

Later, they sat on the beach and watched the tide roll in.  
His head in her lap, her fingers worked at his hair nimbly as she hummed over him.   
”What are you doing?" He asked after a while. She smiled.   
“I have heard that the Dothraki braid their hair for victories," she replied, "but the Dragonlords wore braids as well."  
“They did," he nodded slightly. She continued her weaving, twining the sandy hair at his temple.   
“And once, there was a woman who visited Sunspear when I was a girl," she started softly, “She said that she was a witch, from beyond the Shadow. She was beautiful," Padmé recalled, "she wore braids in her hair, with twine and ribbon and strings of pearls woven in them. I asked her why, and she told me each braid was for someone she had loved. The twine and the ribbons and strings were to bind their fate to hers." Obi-Wan blinked, digesting this.  
“That seems somewhat...grim," he said finally, glancing up at her and raising an eyebrow. She tugged at his hair, smiling in spite of herself. “It was romantic when I was little!" He laughed, and she shook her head. “I liked that idea." He reached out and twirled one of her curls around his fingers as she braided.   
“I’ve never seen you wear any braids."   
“I haven't had any reason to yet." She'd stopped, and their eyes met.

He turned his gaze to the sea, finally, and she set about braiding the other side of his head.

  
•  
  
  
Days later, when he and Anakin were at last sailing north again, she saw them off from the Water Gardens. It ached his chest to leave; the garden palace had been like a dream--and Padmé had made him not want to wake from it again. She turned away when they'd mounted their horses.  
Obi-Wan had looked back, just one last time to see her, and as her cousins ushered her back inside, he saw her long hair: part of her brown curls had been braided, woven and tied off with blue twine.


	6. distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another canonverse oneshot--this can be considered part of the same storyline as the other canonverse chapters, or just a standalone.
> 
> rating: E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is, once again, just straight up PWP.  
> NSFW, improper use of the force at an otherwise kinda boring dinner.

These dinners were tedious. 

It wasn't like she _hated_ them; and she was home again, which was nice--she hadn't been back to Naboo in some months now and after all the excitement recently it was nice to just be somewhere familiar again.   
But there was this _function_ first.

In the past month, she'd been kidnapped and held hostage for three days, shot at, nearly tossed out of a speeder, and had to keep a filibuster up for over five hours--and now she was having to dress up and sit through this dinner with a handful of her senate peers and the queen. She looked at herself in the mirror in her chambers in the Theed palace, and sighed.   
On top of all of that, it had been _over_ a month since she'd seen Obi-Wan, and in that span of time she'd heard--through Ahsoka in _passing_ , no less--that he'd been wounded in some battle. She'd also found out that he'd been in the infirmary for _days_ , and that it had been over a week since he'd been released when she was talking to Ahsoka, and by now he was off to yet another assignment. She hadn't known at the time, and as it happened she'd been offplanet herself, but...  
She was glad he was all right, but the fact they were playing a game of information tag with such a wide board and so many different players was killing her. Not that she could demand more timely information.   
She sighed again.   
At least after this dinner she could rest a few days. She frowned at her reflection, at that thought. Sure _she_ could relax, but who even knew where _he_ was right now, and that alone was going to needle at her. Still, she had a duty and an appearance to make, and so she let Sabé and the others help with last checks on her appearance before leaving. 

  
•  
  


The feast hall was beautiful, as always, and Padmé was on time, as always. She swept in in one of her gowns she favored for Naboo--sea green and embroidered with pale pink flowers, lace beneath silk. It was formal, comfortable, nothing spectacular, and that was fine tonight.   
But then when she was led to her seat by an attendant, she barely heard the others greeting her--the queen sat at the head of the table, flanked by her advisors on either side, and then senators and various nobles gathered at the table...along with a trio of jedi. Padmé knew all three—Master Windu, Master Fisto, and conveniently sat across from her was Master Kenobi.   
She felt the air leave her lungs.   
His brow rising slightly was the only sign of surprise he made, bowing his head in greeting with the others and offering her a polite smile.  
“Good evening Senator Amidala!" Master Fisto was always cheerful, it seemed, and she offered him a bright smile.   
“Master Fisto! I’m glad to see you!" She nodded, and he smiled broadly.   
“I hope you have been staying out of trouble since we met on Hosnian Prime!" She just laughed.  
“As much as I can, Master Fisto, though your assistance there was greatly appreciated.“ Master Windu nodded at this.   
“The Council was glad you returned to Coruscant safely, Senator, as always." There was a note of patience in his voice that she knew very well. This had been far from the first time they'd been called upon to rescue her. Across from her, Obi-Wan's brow rose.   
“You were involved in that business on Hosnian Prime?" He glanced from Kit to Padmé. She nodded.   
“It was an accident. Master Fisto was luckily in the right place at the right time." Still, when she looked up, his blue eyes were worried.

She gave him a look that said he had no room to talk, she knew he'd been into trouble himself recently. He didn't pursue the subject, but when a senator down the table caught her attention to talk as the food was served, Obi-Wan found himself wishing the table was less crowded.  
They weren't staying on Naboo. At least, the discussion had been that they would attend the queen's dinner and then return to Coruscant--but that had been before he'd known Padmé would be there for certain. He'd hoped, considering the location, but she'd been so busy lately…Not that he was any different. Dinner continued. Wine was served, just as delicious as the food, and every so often he'd find himself watching her--usually when he realized she was watching him, as well. It had been over a _month;_ and before that, weeks between again. He wanted to ask her about Hosnian. He wanted to know what had happened since he'd seen her last. He wanted to be close to her; and now that they finally were face to face, there was even physically a barrier between them. He had no place to be frustrated, and yet...

Padmé watched him silently over her wine glass, and thought the same as he did. He resigned himself to small-talk, hoping that possibly he'd be able to at least see her before leaving after dinner. Padmé, however, knew him well enough to see the disappointment in his eyes. Under the table, she could just brush the toe of her shoe over his boot--it was just to get his attention, and when she saw him jerk a little in his seat she knew it had worked. His eyes flew up to her, and she gave him a private smile, thinking of something. Deliberately, her eyes wandered to the doorway, and a moment later she excused herself briefly.   
“I completely forgot," she explained quickly, “I’ve got to have Sabé send a message for me. I’ll be right back, I’m terribly sorry..." But she was excused and ducked out into the hall.

  
•  
  


She waited around the corner, hoping he'd understood—and he had. A few moments later he emerged from the dining hall, glancing around subtly until he spotted her, and quickly the both of them slipped around the corner and out of sight. Her arms were around his neck instantly.   
“Obi-Wan," she kept her voice hushed, arms tight as he pulled her in close.   
“I heard about Shili, about Zygerria, I—Ahsoka told me you'd been so hurt--" He shook his head, shushing her and kissing her forehead.   
“It's all right—I’m all right--what about _you?_ Hosnian?" She shook her head, taking a deep breath as they leaned back to look each other in the face.   
“It was nothing, it was fine--"   
“I heard about it from Kit, and from Hondo, of all people--"   
“—Well what did _he_ tell you--"   
“I’m glad you're _safe_ ," he took her face in his hands. She gave him a little smile.   
“I could say the same about you." Her smile faded some, “I was _worried._ I was worried, and I hate that I had no idea you were on Coruscant in the Temple all that time—I would have at least visited..." He sighed.   
“Things weren't so bad, really." She gave him a look. He shrugged lightly. “Nothing out of the ordinary, at least." Padmé barely blinked.   
“So that bad, then." He snorted.   
“…Yes, that bad." She glanced at the corner they'd come around.   
“We don't have long."   
“I know." He rubbed a thumb over her cheek. “After?" She looked hopeful.   
“Are you staying on Naboo? I’m going to visit the ake country to see my parents after tonight, you could come with me--"   
“We're supposed to be returning to Coruscant," he sighed, and she deflated.   
“I see." He kissed her forehead.   
“I may be able to buy a day." She eyed him hesitantly.   
“You're sure?"   
“I won't know unless I try," he offered with a smile, and she smiled back.   
“All right." She slipped out of his arms, and paused to take one of his hands, meeting his eyes again. “But after dinner...you'll stay?" He squeezed her hand, nodding.   
“As long as I can." And she nodded back before hurrying back to dinner, suddenly looking much more forward to the evening. 

  
•  
  


Sitting across from each other from this point on was _torture._ Dinner seemed to drag on, and they were both distracted.  
  
Down the table, one of the senators stood and insisted upon a story that Padmé knew was about to be incredibly long. She and Obi-Wan met eyes across the table, and she twisted her lips up slightly, wishing she could get out of this.   
She felt something brush her hand on the table. Nothing was touching her, and she glanced around a moment before noticing the tiny smile on Obi-Wan's face as he continued to watch the senator speaking. Her eyes widened slightly, feeling the odd sensation run up over her arm.  
She almost laughed when the strange feeling zipped up the side of her neck to graze her cheek like a kiss, and Padmé pursed her lips to stay quiet. She knew what he was doing; she was just surprised. He did it again, brushing the other cheek, and her smile widened. He could see her out of the corner of his eye. Seeing her smile made the wait that much more tolerable--but it _had_ been a long time, and he was eager to be done with this event. 

Padmé felt the strange force-touch slowly graze the side of her throat, and she went still.

The feeling was tingling--like fingertips brushing over her skin. Knowing that in his way, it was like _he_ was touching her, she swallowed and didn't move her head. Her eyes wandered over to him across the banquet table. He looked perfectly placid, like nothing was amiss.  
The 'fingertips' brushed over the side of her neck, trailing around over her necklace to the hollow of her throat and down over her collarbone. Padmé took a deep breath, trying not to imagine him standing there with her right then, holding her close and touching her this way. It was just the way he would, too—slow and soft with an edge of teasing--restrained as Obi-Wan Kenobi was, she knew firsthand there was mischief in that man.   
Right now, it was playing over her collarbone and drawing a thin, prickling line down her sternum, between her breasts. The feeling was _under_ her clothes--her eyes darted over to him again and there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. She knew that he knew she was looking at him, and her fingers lightly drummed the table, wondering how far he was planning on taking this.

Apparently further than she anticipated. 

The touch sensation swirled around under her breasts and she shivered in her seat, eyes widening slightly as she felt a very teasing little circle twirl around one nipple. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, feeling her face warm.  
He'd never done this to her before. She wondered for a very brief moment if he'd done this to anyone else, but that shot out of mind when the trail started down over her stomach. She almost turned to look at him, stunned when it felt like a hand was resting on her abdomen. Padmé saw his lips twitch, and willed the blush to stop rising in her cheeks, chewing her lip. He _wouldn't--_  
But by now she knew he absolutely would, if he was already willing to take things this far. Already there was heat pooling between her legs, and she knew he knew that, too. She tried to focus on the aging senator's story. Tried not to think of how, when they were alone, this was exactly the way he'd touch her-- _hand trailing down her stomach, pressing just slightly, enough to keep her in place. His mouth on her neck, voice in her ear low and soft..._  
She swallowed hard, trying desperately to focus, but the phantom hand slowly slid down between her legs, and she had to bite back a gasp. Of course no one had noticed--the only sign of anything 'off' was her expression; her face flushed pink and her lips red from biting at them. The fact that she was already wet under her gown by the time the unseen fingers pressed ghost-light against her folds was completely unknown to anyone--she did suck in a quick hitched breath, however, and this time she saw him turn just slightly to look at her.  
His eyes were silently checking in with her. She knew if she signaled him in any way to stop he would, immediately, but...she didn't want him to. She cast a little flicker of a glance his way and ran her tongue over her lips. It had been too long, and she was impatient.

The invisible fingers probed between her legs, light and mild at first. She shifted in her seat some, trying to keep her outward composure. A tingling sensation brushed over her clit, and she jolted. The senator seated to face her leaned a little closer, mildly concerned.  
“Senator Amidala, are you all right?" Their voice was politely low, and she nodded.   
“Oh yes, I’m fine," she replied quietly, but they saw the red on her cheeks and looked skeptical. She waved it off, smiling as Obi-Wan's little force-trick licked touches along her soaked pussy. For his part, he was absolutely calm and looked completely unassuming.   
And of course no one would ever suspect Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi of all beings in the galaxy to be using the force to pleasure a senator under a banquet table during a royal function.  
Likewise it was probably just as unlikely to anyone asked that Senator Padmé Amidala would be encouraging a jedi master to use the force to pleasure her under a banquet table during a royal function.   
And yet here they both were, all the same.

The odd stroking continued. Her hips shifted against the seat, but the inquiring senator didn’t seem to notice. They gave Padmé a curious look but nodded finally, settling back in their own chair to continue listening. Across the table, Obi-Wan looked subtly amused. Another tingling brush over her clit. Her mouth went dry and she reached for her wine, fingers trembling slightly around the glass. Her thighs pressed together and she set the wine back down, trying to keep her eyes forward as he teased her, the touches getting more deliberate. The phantom fingers slid against her in slow strokes, and her fingers curled against the table. Her lip was between her teeth again. This lacked the warmth of his skin, the perfect roughness of his hands, the weight of him against her, but right now she wasn't complaining. Finally, there was a sensation like a finger pressing inside of her, and she sucked in a quick whimper of a breath. A few people turned to glance at her but she waved them off, shaking her head and feigning a cough. She grabbed her wine, trying to seem like nothing was wrong.  
The pressure went deeper, and Padmé shut her eyes a moment. It felt like a hand fingerfucking her slow and deep and she ended up grasping so hard at the wine glass she was afraid she might break it, and set it down again. The red wine inside sloshed, spraying onto her fingers.   
“Are you all right, senator?" Obi-Wan's voice came from across the table, innocent and feigning concern. She gave him a strained smile and took the opportunity to kiss the little red drops off of her knuckles, meeting his eyes.   
“I’m fine, Master Kenobi--just a little tired."

She apologized for the interruption and the storytelling senator went back to his tale after recalling where he'd left off, Obi-Wan’s eyes following Padmé’s lips each time they brushed the backs of her fingers. She shot him a disbelieving look, and he offered her an entirely innocent smile as the unseen fingers rubbed at her clit and thrust harder into her. Her thighs rubbed together and she squirmed in her seat, the silk of her gown shifting over her legs. He nearly tore a cry out of her and then she'd had enough--this was torture. It felt _amazing_ , but the fact she couldn't properly enjoy it was too much. She wanted an out.  
Glancing down, there was still a sticky little spot of red on her pinky. Her eyes wandered to her glass, and the pitcher nearby. She wasn't really _considering_ this, was she? The invisible fingers buried themselves into her quivering body, and she darted a hand out for the wine.  
Obi-Wan noticed her go for the pitcher and tried not to turn to watch her, wondering about the sudden change of expression, but he realized too late what she was intending.

Padmé lifted the delicate glass decanter, and promptly dropped it onto the table.

The shatter had the whole congregation turning to look at her, and she leapt to her feet in mock distress. The wine hadn't spilled her way--in fact, even though the decanter had broken, it had sprayed onto the robes of the jedi master across from her.   
”Oh! Stars—I’m so sorry!" Obi-Wan looked completely stunned--not by the wine, but the fact that Padmé had actually done this. He got to his feet.   
”No harm done, senator," he shook his head, shaking himself off some, "though I think perhaps you're a bit more tired than you thought." She rushed around the table, other senators moving aside to let the attendants clean up; Master Windu was watching Obi-Wan under a raised eyebrow while Master Fisto was chuckling over the whole thing. People were murmuring, a few offering her _‘Are you all right'_ s and _‘Oh dear'_ s.

“Please--come with me, I’ll see you get a change of clothes," she offered sweetly, and Obi-Wan shot her an amused smile. The queen herself excused Padmé at this point.   
“Go and rest, senator--you've had a very busy few weeks. Master Kenobi--" Padmé waved a hand politely.  
“I’ll see that he has a clean set of clothes, this was my fault after all," she said firmly, and Obi-Wan gave the queen a cordial smile.   
“I trust Senator Amidala with my clothes, if perhaps not my wine tonight." Padmé gave him a look, and the other masters nodded, shrugging.  
“We'll be returning to Coruscant shortly," Master Windu reminded him, and Obi-Wan nodded.   
“I’ll be back to the Temple myself--while I’m here I think I’ll stay another day or two." Mace raised an eyebrow, but nodded.   
“Of course."   
“The fresh air may do you some good!" Kit laughed.

  
•

  
Padmé was at his elbow already, and by now their goodnights were getting rushed along until they were out the door, down the quiet hall, around the corner, and Padmé could grab his wrist, pulling him towards her rooms.   
“You smug _tooka_ —I can't _believe_ you!" She gasped. He looked just as smug right then, trotting along after her.   
“My dear, I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean." She looked back at him with red cheeks and accusing eyes.  
“You deserve the stains," she hissed, but there was no venom in it and he only laughed.

They paused outside her doors, and he stepped in front of her, taking her hand and meeting her gaze sincerely.   
“Was it all right?" His voice had lowered, and slowly he slid an arm around her waist, and she pressed close to his chest, nodding up at him.   
“Very, very all right." He smiled slowly, and she plucked at his stained robes, suppressing a grin. “Right now, I think you need to get out of these." He arched a brow, lips curving up.  
“You did offer to assist with that."   
“I did!" She pushed the door open and pulled him inside with her, laughing.

  
•  
  


They smelled like wine, flowers, laughter and arousal and their clothes fell away quickly enough, allowing Obi-Wan’s fingers to follow up where he’d only played at before.  
“‘Very, very all right’ indeed,” he teased against her lips, feeling her jerk at the sudden probe of his fingers while they stumbled towards the bed. Padmé groaned, hands dragging over his chest.  
“I did say so,” she replied breathlessly, kissing him again, and he grunted quietly as her hands found his cock. “Too bad I don’t have the same tricks,” she mumbled into the string of kisses they exchanged, pumping him slowly while his hand worked between her legs.  
“You don’t need them,” he groaned, and she felt them bump the mattress together.

She crawled up and he moved with her, letting her usher him into her arms but pressing her legs open as he leaned over her, his fingers finding their way inside her fever-hot body the way she’d wished they had earlier.  
“I— _oh stars_ —I missed you,” she gasped, tossing her head against the sheets. He kissed her softly, gentle and tender while his fingers absolutely ravaged her.  
“I can tell,” he purred, “I saw how…rushed…you got at dinner.” She whimpered against his lips, legs shivering as he brought her closer and closer to release.  
“You wanted,” she gasped, “to get out of there just as much as I did!” He just smiled, laughing quietly.  
“You’re right, I did.” He dipped his head again and kissed her harder, fingers curling inside of her. “And you loved that, too.” Padmé’s hips bucked against his hand and she let out a choked cry.  
“I did,” she moaned, “I loved it,” her back arched and her hands grasped at his shoulders, “You awful kriffing _tease—“_  
“Language,” he tutted as he always did, and she dug her nails into his back. He bit at her jaw in response and then moved back to softly, slowly kiss her again as he felt her clench around his fingers, “I missed you too, darling.”

  
•

  
A few hours later, Master Kenobi had gotten out of his wine-soaked robes, Senator Amidala had gotten a little rest, and when Sabé and Dormé peeked in to check on their lady, there were quiet shushes and the two women quickly left the room again.

“If I didn't already know Sabé knows everything, I might be worried right now," Obi-Wan mumbled against Padmé's back, not bothering to open his eyes. She stirred a little, laughing softly.   
“She does, doesn't she..." She wiggled when his beard tickled her spine.  
“I trust them," he sighed, smiling, and she nodded before rolling onto her back and taking his face in her hands. She smiled sleepily.   
“A few days, hm?" He smiled back, tired and just as rumpled as she was.   
“A few days." He dipped his head to kiss her. “Any ideas?"  
“A few," she smiled against his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck. He pressed warm, tired kisses around her lips and she felt him smiling back.   
“No more banquets," he rumbled, and she laughed.   
“None for now."   
“You'll have to come up with a better diversion next time." She made a face, tucking her legs around him, enjoying the familiar weight over her.   
“You're one to talk." He grinned, shifting his hips against hers.   
“I would call that more of a distraction." She made a pleased sound, shaking her head fondly.   
“All right, a distraction, then."


	7. the tourney at lannisport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a story set a good while before my ASOIAF/game of thrones AU, [A Song of Stars And Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/series/935646)  
> this happens years after the events in chapter 5
> 
> rated: G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there really aren't any warnings for this chapter aside from some lancelot&guinevere-style intrigue  
> there's a tournament held for the king's birthday, and the hand of the king participates as the queen's champion.

The tourney was a gift, from the purse of the Lannisters, for the king's nameday--and it was quite the gift indeed, though everyone knew it was more for the lion lords than the Targaryen king. A show of wealth and loyalty to the crown that would not be taken lightly.   
It was a grand affair. A melee in seven parts, an archery contest, horse races, a mummer's show--and a joust that lasted four days. Feasting, dancing, fighting; amidst all of it King Anakin was absolutely delighted, and only disappointed that he hadn't participated more.

It wasn't good form--who would strike the king?   
“You would, for one," he'd joked with Lord Kenobi while the latter was tending his armor before the joust one of the days.   
“I would also be the only one with valid reason," Obi-Wan retorted, tugging a glove into place.  
“Which is exactly why I won't give you the opportunity," Anakin chuckled, heading out of the tent, "that, and my lady wife would mislike sitting beside a black-eyed king, I imagine." The tent shut again and Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment before he finished suiting himself.

He'd barely seen the queen these past seven days. The joust was nearly to a close and he realized he'd only managed glimpses of her here and there throughout the entirety of the tourney--which he supposed was just as well. Helm in place and astride his horse, he tried to clear his head as he rode for the turns. Had she been watching the past few days? He'd seen her once, the first day, when she'd given him her favor--the green sash with gold roses embroidered into it was tied about his arm now.  
He knew, somehow, that she'd been present. He was sure Anakin had been, and while the queen might not have been required to do so, Obi-Wan knew she would have wanted to remain. However, when he reached the turn and glanced at the king's dais, she was absent. 

  
•

The joust ended that afternoon. The final tilt saw Lord Kenobi the victor; somewhat resigned as he retrieved the crown of roses, through the applause something caught his eye when he turned back. There she was, at the front of the king's dais, cheering delightedly with the rest. Her brown hair was coppery in the daylight, curling loose around her shoulders and down her back, white flowers spun into braids around the crown of her head. She wore a gown the colors of sunrise, a gown he'd never seen before, but what caught his eyes was the jewelry she wore:  
The sun glinted off of gold, inlaid with blue stone that he recognized immediately. It was mother of pearl--a blue that was only found in shells around the island seat of the Kenobi's ancestral house. 

It made his breath catch, seeing her wearing it in the stands this way.

She was smiling at him, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen; briefly he glanced at the wreath of roses in his hand. It should be hers. The roses were Lannister red for the tourney, and he wanted to place them atop her head and name her the queen of love and beauty. _His_ queen of love and beauty.   
The roses found the lap of the eldest Velaryon girl in the end. His second cousin, who knew well enough this wasn't some declaration of romance but enjoyed the attention nevertheless. The queen clapped, and Obi-Wan imagined the roses in her hair. 

  
•

That night, the feasting carried on until late, and Lord Kenobi was sober and alone inside his tent when the flap opened and shut again. He stood to face the unexpected visitor, but when their hood fell back it was a familiar face he was met with.   
“You should be celebrating!"

Immediately, he was gently drawing her further into the tent.   
“Your highness—what are you doing here?" He shook his head, a bit dismayed, "you'll be missed."   
“Don't you think I know well enough to wait until everyone is far too drunk to miss me by now?" She laughed in response. He sighed some. She tilted her head slightly. “Don't you suppose _you_ were missed, Lord Kenobi--victor of the joust?" He did smile some, then.   
“Was I?”   
“You _were_ , until the wine continued to flow." She smiled back. “And now here I am to tell you so."   
“How kind of you, your grace."

She fell silent, then, and lifted a hand to his cheek.   
“Not here," she said quietly.   
_“Padmé,"_ he amended, and took her hand in his.   
“You were magnificent," she smiled softly, “I nearly missed your first round."   
“I thought you had," he admitted, and she shook her head.  
“You are my champion," she reminded him with a smile, "how could I miss your rounds?" She moved just so, though, and the candlelight caught something gleaming and blue beneath her cloak. Carefully, he unclasped the garment and slid the fabric aside.

Padmé's breath had caught when he'd fallen quiet, but now she understood why. She brought his hand to rest his fingers over the golden collar inlaid with blue shell about her throat, and looked up to meet his gaze.   
“Do you like it?" she asked softly, “I had them ma--" He kissed her, sudden and firm, free hand cradling the back of her head and threading his fingers into her hair. If he wore her favor, then she surely wore his, this way.   
“You shouldn't--it's _conspicuous_ ," he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers. She shook her head, and clasped his hand over her collar.   
“It's a tourney," she said firmly. “I shall wear what I please." His hand left her hair to stroke her cheek.   
“Have a care, my lady," he murmured, and kissed her forehead. “My queen." He heaved a small sigh, at length. “The crown belonged to you, today," he said softly, stroking stray hair away from her face. Padmé only smiled.   
“I have far too many already," she replied without hesitation, "your victory was worth a thousand flower wreathes." Obi-Wan smiled down at her, shaking his head fondly.  
His fingers trailed over the necklace around her neck, and he watched the light play over the seashell for a moment.   
“Perhaps if I have one fashioned from shells for you--"   
“Now who's bold, hm?" She laughed, and he cupped her cheek, brow furrowing some.   
“Go back," he said softly.

  
It was her turn to look dismayed. She brought a hand up to rest atop his on her face.   
“Obi-Wan..." He shook his head, fingers shifting to curl around hers.  
“It's late. You'll be noticed if you wait much longer." She frowned, and he dipped his head to kiss her softly. Too sweet, too gentle, too much. “Much longer," he whispered, "and I won't want you to go at all."  
Already they risked too much-- _she_ risked too much. She slipped back out into the night and he ran a hand over his face, stroking his beard once he was alone again, and then snuffed his candles. 

That night he dreamed of crowns made of blue shell and gold, summer without end, and her smile.


	8. like wine, like roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a pretty simple, self-explanatory au:  
> vampire!obi-wan.  
> that's it, that's the whole premise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UMMMMM if the summary wasn't clear: TW for blood.  
> aside from that, there's really no warning for this.
> 
> i've actually done a few nsfw doodles for this au that are on my twitter, but the one that really prompted me to write anything was this: [ it's not particularly nsfw, but there IS blood](https://twitter.com/xkhaleesea/status/1242666615411523584?s=20)

Her sleep schedule was absolute shit these days. 

She wasn't really complaining; honestly she wasn’t. She was adjusting to working from home a few days a week, and all-in-all it wasn’t bad. She had some free time during the day and then they had their time at night. Which wasn't to say he was taking up all her time; he had a life too--an eternal one, as it happened—and the entirety of it didn't revolve around her, just like she had a life outside of him. He did feel guilty about her flopped schedule, though.  
He felt like he was robbing her of daylight, which she denied. She had plenty of time for that. She was choosing to spend time with him.   
“I’m a grown adult," she reminded him, "and I can make my own big girl choices." She usually kissed him when she said this, "and I choose _you_ sometimes."  
He was grateful for it, even if he still did feel a little poorly. 

  
And he did try to help her with work when he could—or anything else she had that needed doing, when he was around. The introduction of 24 hour shopping was something he was giving more credit to now. But on the nights when she didn’t have work to finish and they had time, they did plenty. They went to movies, late dinners. Long walks. Concerts, sometimes--she had to drag him to these. They’d gone to nightclubs, beachside bars...or they stayed in, usually at his place.  
She found shows for them to binge watch. He liked historical documentaries so he could talk about living through the things they talked about. She liked watching period dramas for the romance. He thought it was charming, since she was very much what he termed a ‘modern woman’.  
“You would have been lovely in the fashions back then," he told her often, and every time she just laughed, but liked hearing it anyways. She thought about it often, the fact he had lived such a long time. The fact he was choosing to spend this time with her.  
But likewise he thought the same. She had such a fleeting life and yet she was sharing even part of it with him. Her time, her nights, her bed--or his with her--but even her blood. That decision was hers—he’d been very careful not to breach the subject for the longest time. She'd been the one to offer. She'd been the one to pull him close, assure him it was all right, that she was certain. Ever since that first time, he'd let her control things, but he'd been more willing to drink from her on occasion. With her permission, of course.  
Sometimes, though, she could tell when he'd been holding out a little too long. He was a little more irritable these nights, woke up later than usual. She chided him about it, knowing he always hesitated about asking her, but she found ways around it every time.

  
•

  
Tonight was one of those nights.  
She'd been the one to go in and see if he was awake a good hour after he usually was out and about, and found him still in bed on his phone. He had a little knit in his brow and his mouth looked severe, and she knew right off what was going on.  
“I tried calling," she raised an eyebrow at him from the bedroom doorway, still in her slacks and blouse from work that day. He glanced up at her, towards his still-covered window, and then back again.   
“Christ, what time is it?"   
“You have your phone in your hand," she pointed out, strolling in with an amused smirk.  
He ran a hand over his face, and she slid her shoes off and crawled onto the mattress with him.   
“I’ve got a few days off," she leaned in and kissed his cheek, "and it's supposed to storm. I thought maybe I’d come stay over this weekend." He gave her a wary look. She leaned over and gave him a knowing look right back, stroking a stray hair out of his face. “You always do this," she sighed, "you always wait too long to say anything." He opened his mouth and shut it again, understanding what she meant and sitting up, shaking his head and frowning.   
“I can't ask you, Padmé."

He was in just his trousers and she settled over his lap, resting a hand on his chest.   
“You're cold, too." He grumbled some about this, and she leaned in to kiss the corner of his lips. “You have to ask, sometimes," she murmured gently, “I can't read your mind." He wrapped his arms around her waist, sighing.  
“This can't be what you planned on for this evening," he muttered, but her hands were already unbuttoning her blouse.   
“No," she admitted, “I had other plans, but this fits in perfectly." He raised an eyebrow at this.   
“Oh?" She untucked and shrugged her arms out of her shirt and tossed it aside, leaning in to kiss him properly.   
“Oh yes." His eyes searched her face when she pulled back again, questioning.   
“You're sure?" She nodded, giving him another quick kiss.  
“You don't plan on making this good for me, too?" He made a face, opening his mouth to debate her on that, and she kissed him again, laughing at his reaction. He pulled back first, this time.   
“Don't tease about this," he frowned, and she kissed his forehead.  
“You always get so worried," she sighed softly, stroking the side of his face, "but I trust you." He caught her wrist.   
“Sometimes I worry about that too," he replied dryly, but kissed her palm. “I did miss you this week." She smiled, slid her hand to hold his.   
“I missed you too."

Her hips shifted against his and she shivered when her bare skin pressed against his chest.   
“God you're cold," it was affectionate, and he took her chin, kissing her softly.   
“I suppose I can let you warm me up, then, since you're here." She snorted softly.   
“Since i'm here."

  
•

  
Times like this, it was him pleasuring her first. Running so low on blood had its…other…adverse effects, and she always teased him about that afterwards, too. He kissed her as he finished undressing her, leaning her back onto the mattress and swiftly getting her pants unfastened.  
She shimmied out of her slacks and propped herself up to let him unhook her bra, stealing another kiss as he did and she slipped her arms out of the straps. She tossed it off the bed and felt her face go pink at the look he gave her when he sat back again.  
“What?” She held his gaze as he eased her onto her back, leaning over her.   
“You’re beautiful,” he replied, smiling, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed.   
“Tell me that again later,” she murmured against his lips, “after you’ve made a mess of me.”

His mouth traveled from her lips down to her neck—but she knew he wasn’t stopping there, not yet. He did linger a moment or two, almost like a brief reminder of what was to come later. She shivered, thinking of how warm he would be afterwards, and felt his mouth trail down her collar.  
His beard tickled her chest, making her gasp and wiggle under him as he traveled over one breast and sucked at her already-stiffened nipple. She groaned when his tongue laved over her skin; but her eyes flicked down to meet his, however, when he teased her with a graze of teeth.

He grinned up at her impishly as he released her nipple, dragging his beard over the soft skin of her stomach. Padmé groaned, tucking her knees up and reaching to run fingers through his hair.   
“Tease,” she huffed, and he rubbed a hand over her thigh, tucking her leg over his shoulder. He settled between her legs and kissed the inside of her thigh, holding her gaze. She shivered, grinning, and watched him slowly press a kiss to the crotch of her lacy panties.   
“You like the teasing,” he purred, and she could feel it against her.   
“I think you like it more.” This time he laughed, and she inhaled sharp, biting her lip at the feeling. He knew what he was doing—and she knew by now that he was _very good_ at what he was doing.   
“You might be right,” he admitted, amused, and lowered his head to tease her through the lace again. Her legs tensed. “The results are always very worth my while, however,” he finished, and she heaved a breath, knowing he could feel how wet she was.   
“Your very _long_ while,” she grumbled halfheartedly, and whined when she felt the press of his tongue. “God—Obi—“ He looked _terribly_ smug as he relented and helped lift her thighs, slowly peeling her panties away.   
“Now, now,” he tutted, completely at his leisure taking her panties off as she was practically squirming against his bedsheets, “do you really think I could hold back too long?” She made a face that said she absolutely did, tapping her toes against his shoulder once he’d tossed her last bit of clothing aside.   
“Sometimes I wonder,” she breathed out, and he caught her ankle, kissing the top of her foot.   
“And yet here you are, hmm?” She let him tuck her legs over his shoulders again and shook her head fondly. She was absolutely still here—her last two exes might have treated this like a chore, but— he lowered his head to kiss the little tuft of curls between her legs and she shuddered, holding his gaze.  
She wasn’t one to be smug, but sometimes she couldn’t help it—on top of being handsome, kind, having his life together…Obi-Wan ate pussy like he was born to do it.   
Or else like he’d mastered the skill; and he lowered his head to prove that to her once again.

  
•

  
His mouth wasn’t warm as usual, but still knew its way around. His tongue explored her folds and swirled around her clit, and Padmé’s hands curled into the sheets. Obi-Wan held her thigh and slid a hand over her stomach to hold her in place, a quiet chuckle rumbling against her.  
Padmé moaned, writhing under him, and Obi-Wan made a pleased sound against her that made her jolt.   
“Fuck...” she groaned, and he gave her clit a quick little suck.  
“Language, darling...” She took a little handful of his hair, about to snark back, but his tongue cut her off.

He was a perfect balance of lips and tongue, drinking her in like—she shivered and whined, feeling the soft hair on his face brush almost too-rough as his tongue slid inside of her. Her fingers in his hair tightened, and he drove his tongue deeper, urged on by her reaction.  
Finally he shifted, letting go of her leg so he could replace his tongue with his fingers. Padmé gasped when she felt the first finger press into her trembling body, and Obi-Wan kissed the inside of her thigh, slowly sliding it deeper and watching her expression adoringly.  
He was slow, sliding the single digit in and out of her, opposite hand sliding to rub his thumb over her clit in lazy circles.   
“I missed you this week,” he purred against her thigh, watching her start to roll her hips against his hands, “some days I wish I could keep you here.” She was writhing against his sheets, hair starting to come loose from the bun she’d had it in. One of her hands grasps at the bedding now while the other has a knuckle to her lips. “Selfish of me,” he groaned, nuzzling her inner thigh, “but you seem to love encouraging that.”  
He bit, very lightly, at the smooth, soft skin of her thigh as he added a second finger, and she tossed her head, keening and clenching around his fingers. Her hips ground against his hand and he leaned to kiss her mound again. She whimpered and arched against the bed, calling out.  
“O-Obi-Wan— _fuck_ —“ she whimpered, feeling his fingers curl.   
“Good girl,” he murmured, “are you close?” His fingers plunged deeper and he lowered his mouth to her clit. She nodded hurriedly, breathless and needy.   
“Yes, god yes— _please_ —“ He _sucked_ and she saw stars.   
“Come for me, darling.”  
A few more strokes of his fingers and flicks of his tongue and she _did_. She clenched hard around his fingers and bucked against his mouth, letting out a punctured cry, and he lapped at her slow and light as she rode out her orgasm.

  
•

  
He loved watching her this way--flushed and catching her breath, chest slowly starting to rise and fall normally, her legs jittering slightly. She looked so _alive_ , felt fever-hot and soft under him. Knowing he could do this to her even in his state...he shivered now himself.  
She reached for him while he was staring at her, took his face and guided him over her and then down for a kiss. She could taste herself on his lips, on his tongue, and she made a pleased sound against his mouth--he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up onto his lap with ease.

He pulled back slightly, rubbing their noses and running his hands over her back. She was _warm_ \--he could feel her heart beating against his chest and he was reaching a breaking point with his hunger.   
“Padmé..." he breathed, and she shifted against his lap, getting comfortable. She kissed him again softly, reaching with still-shivery hands to tuck her hair out of the way.   
“Go on," she whispered, drawing his head in close and burying her nose in the hair above his ear. “Do it," her heart fluttered and he could feel it, " _do it_ , Obi-Wan."  
She bared her throat, and his fingers pressed into her back while hers slid up into his hair, rubbing over his scalp. He couldn’t deny he needed this; he was starving, he’d waited too long, and he knew it was subconsciously in the hopes of getting to drink from her when she next visited.

She was too good to him, he thought, cradling her close, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her again on the mouth.   
”I don't deserve you," he breathed with a light shake of his head, and she nudged his nose with hers.   
“You do," she murmured firmly, "and you need blood."  
He couldn't argue with that, certainly.   
Padmé stroked his hair and settled against him, relaxed and warm from orgasm, and he kissed along her jaw and down the soft column of her neck, hands holding her close. He was gentle with her, so gentle and so careful, certain she was perfectly relaxed.  
He found where he could feel her pulse, and pressed open-mouthed kisses over her skin, lightly sucking and tracing it with his tongue, and she sighed, head tilting just a fraction further to give him access. They’d done this before. She knew what was coming.  
His fangs extended just slightly and sank into her skin, and she gasped, deep and breathy, clinging to him as he drank. 

It had been too long and he was _starving_ ; and she knew by now how this would likely go. She’d been better about her vitamins recently for that very reason.  
Post-sex meant hot blood, warm skin, and relaxed muscles, and she was more than content to provide. The pain was actually bearable--neither of them were entirely sure what it was, but it was _good_ if she was honest. Being bitten, letting him drink…somehow it was... _ **very**_ good.

Which was exactly why generally they were in the bedroom for this. His arms tightened around her and she groaned, shutting her eyes and squeezing her thighs around his waist, feeling his skin slowly warm up against hers.  
Once this was done with, once he’d had enough, she knew what came then, too. Already she could feel him under her, warm and more vital, and quickly enough his cock stiffened under her ass through his silk pants. Her hips rolled against his, and she felt him groan against her throat.

The fact she not only allowed him to do this but _encouraged_ him to do it--to drink from her, to have her like this--if he hadn't been in love with her already, he would have been now. His arms locked around her as he felt her shift against him, and felt his body react to hers. Drinking another person's blood--even for vampires--was something intimate already; but knowing she was there of her own accord, she was in his arms for more than just his hunger...she was _delicious_ ; and he'd think so even if he wasn't so absolutely ravenous just then.  
He was careful, still, even as hungry as he was. Too much and she would be too weak, too much and he would hurt her. He had a supply in the kitchen and he’d be fine; they’d both take a break later. For now, he finally stopped himself, difficult though it might have been.  
The blood stopped trickling out, after a moment, and he kissed the skin as the wounds sealed—another perk to his condition, he supposed, and right then the last thing he wanted was for her to keep bleeding. Her hands dragged down his back, and he had...other needs to attend to, then.

She let out a shaky breath as he licked the last of the fresh blood from her skin, then brushed his mouth against her jaw before kissing the corner of her lips. She could taste it, then, the metallic taste of blood, and when he pulled back it was smeared on his lips, and on her skin.

It was strange--seeing it on his mouth, coloring his beard slightly. Her blood. Red and dark, it was the most bizarre thing she thought she’d ever been aroused by, but god the sight of it...the taste, even--she swallowed, brought shaky, light fingers up to touch his reddened beard.  
His eyes widened when he saw the smears on her skin, and he went still when she touched him like this. Her fingertips came away red, and she surged forward and kissed him hard, her tongue running over his lips. Every single time: he was surprised, and then hungry all over again.

He flipped her onto her back, however, and made quick work of getting out of his pajamas. There was blood on her chin now, smeared on her jaw and on her fingers, and then on his stomach where her fingertips brushed on their way to his hips. She was waiting for this, and so was he.  
It wasn't often he felt his restraint slip like this--but with her under him, flushed and eager, fresh blood in him and painting her skin, it was impossible to stay totally in control. His hand slipped between her legs only briefly before he was satisfied she was ready.

  
•

  
Sex this way was not wild and rough, it was rhythmic and deep, a continuation of that intimacy from him drinking. It was _luxurious_ \--she’d said that, once, and he thought about it often. His thrusts were slow and deep and their kisses were lingering and hot.  
Their bodies stayed close even when their position changed, he wanted to hold her and she wanted to feel him against her. She was languid from blood loss but still could feel the sensation from his bite, and when she had mentioned a 'treat' earlier, this was absolutely what she'd meant.   
They shifted and she was on her side, her legs held open as he rocked against her, and she curled an arm around his head to hold him close. He tasted like blood and wine and _her_ , still, and she feels drunk on him as much as he feels drunk on her. When she came again he was buried inside of her and kissing her, her face held in his hand as his hips still rocked in deep, rhythmic strokes into her. His own climax was close behind, but she shuddered and whimpered in his arms as he chased it, a little overstimulated but so, so satisfied.

She shivered and he held her tight, the both of them coming down from orgasm together in a heap on his sheets. He stroked her face and pressed soft kisses around her lips, and she knew without him saying a word. Her hand rested on his cheek and she kissed him softly in response.  
“Good?" she asked after a little while, smiling blissfully. He kissed her nose.   
“Perfect." She nuzzled against his mouth.   
“Yeah?"   
“As always." She looked pleased.   
“Do I really taste good?" She asked, a little shy. He blinked, and then nodded, kissing her again.  
“Like the sweetest wine," he replied, fond against her skin. “Like roses and honey, cherry and apple." She snorted.   
“And not just because those are red, right..?" He paused, not having realized she was right.   
“Well--" but she laughed, and he laughed with her, and they were both _happy_.

He smoothed her hair out of her face, grinning and shaking his head affectionately before remembering.   
“Oh—I nearly forgot," his smile widened as he took her face in his hands and met her eyes. “You're beautiful." She paused, blinked, then remembered and laughed all over again.

Later they would get up and she'll drink the vitamin water she kept in his kitchen while he takes one of the supplements he kept on hand, and they'll probably rest a while to talk--but their weekend was only just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy national horny day c;


	9. temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a request from tumblr: _“Could you do something like SithPadme seduces Obi Wan, please? Between Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones please??”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rated G? T POSSIBLY? this is suuuuuper super mild. c:  
> i love force!sensitive padmé SO much yall, i might have to write more of this flkjsdlfksj

He hadn’t expected the first time he would see her again would be...whatever this was. It’s been almost eight years; to say he’s thought of her every day would be a vast overstatement, but he’s thought of her often. The pretty young queen from Naboo who had shocked him with her competence and her tenacious strength; she’d been a child then, but now—

“You disappoint me, Master Kenobi.”

Now, she was a woman grown who had him at saberpoint on the balcony of an abandoned palace in the jungles of an outer rim moon, and he's so caught off-guard by the sight of her wielding the red blade that he’s fumbled more than he ought have.  
“My lady—“ he starts, still stunned and fixated on her eyes, watching gold swim with red like firefish round her pupils. She advances, backing him further towards the crumbling balcony wall and the jungle far below.  
“Yes?” Her voice is dangerously pleasant, airy as if she hasn’t a care in the galaxy. She’s lovely, lovelier than she had been when he’d first met her, but now she radiates the living force in a way he hadn’t even suspected she could before.

“I don’t know what’s happened to you Padmé, but it isn’t too late—“ she laughs, melodic and pleased, like he’s told the most charming joke.  
“ _‘Too late’_ ,” she mimics, and fixes him with a gaze that sears through him. “You should worry more about yourself, and the Jedi, and your ‘Republic’. It is far too late for any of _you_ , now.” Obi-Wan’s brow knits.  
“I don’t understand.” She shakes her head.  
“You wouldn’t. You’re too blinded by the Order—“ there’s a sound overhead, a ship entering the atmosphere, and quickly. Padmé disengages her saber, but stays where she is, unafraid of him or his weapon. He doesn’t need to look to see where the ship is headed. “I know you, Obi-Wan—I sense now what I could see clearly when we met.” Her eyes are steady on his as the ship he heard comes zipping up behind them over the palatial ruins.

She steps closer, and he shuts off his lightsaber. Whether he’s unafraid or some other sense has kicked in, he can’t say—but as the ship lowers to hover close, clearly waiting to collect her, they face one another for a fleeting moment no longer as adversaries.  
“You could be so much more than you are now,” she shakes her head, and he stands his ground.  
“I am training Anakin, as Qui-Gon wished,” he replies evenly, “and I am—“  
“A glorified nanny,” she cuts him off. “Charged with a child the Jedi Order wanted to cast off.”  
“He is the chosen one,” he challenges her, “and he is a skilled warrior already. I have little left to teach him.”  
“And then?” Her brow rises as his comlink lights up, blinking wildly before Anakin’s voice crackles over the speaker.

_“Master? I’m headed your way, you’ve been gone too long—“_

Padmé offers a slow shake of her head.  
“When he is no longer your padawan, what then? Will you content yourself with more sacrifice for an order that takes you for granted?” Obi-Wan falls silent, and as he can sense Anakin approaching on his speeder, Padmé heaves a small breath. “I would be wasting my time offering my hand to you here and now,” she sighs, but then as the ship’s hatch snaps open and the buzz of a speeder engine reaches his ears, Padmé surges forward and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. For a drawn-out moment her body is against his and her breath is warm on his skin as she whispers: "I can give you what you long for,” her hand presses to the center of his chest, “without fear, or doubt.” Her eyes meet his and he feels something in him constrict, “Without _guilt_.”

She strides to board her ship as if nothing happened, casting a final glance his way. “Come and take it, when you’re tired of the muzzle the Jedi Order has fitted you with.”

He can admit, only later in the silent confines of his bed, that he would have held her close if she had lingered just a moment longer. _I can give you what you long for_ , her voice echoes in his head and he thinks of all the things he’s wanted, thinks of the things he’s let go. Obi-Wan exhales, shuts his eyes.  
There is nothing she can give him.

•

Some rotations later, after scattered run-ins and brushes they both rarely speak of, is a senatorial gala where he’s been assigned security detail—they play tooka and mouse through the crowds until he can corner her, once more on a balcony in the open air. She laughs as he rounds on her, not bothering to reach for her weapon.  
“You certainly choose romantic locales for our meetings, Master Kenobi,” she teases, and her voice is so painfully normal.  
“I hadn’t considered that,” he quips back, and then frowns, sobering. “I don’t want to fight you, Padmé.” Her eyes meet his, brown now and warm.  
“Then don’t.”  
“I can’t let you leave.”  
“Then don’t,” she repeats, soft but with a certainty that makes him pause. His eyes search hers.  
“Padmé...” She drifts close, but leaves a space between them he finds himself wishing she would close.  
“I told you before,” she says quietly, reaching to take his wrist when she inches closer and he goes for his lightsaber. She stops him, her eyes never leaving his. “Let me free you, Obi-Wan. Let me give you power, satisfaction, without doubt.” She leans closer still, and her whisper makes him shiver in spite of himself. “Let me give you a life without restraint—“ her fingers shift around his wrist and she’s on her toes brushing her lips against his ear, “—let me give you everything you deny yourself without guilt.”

Obi-Wan detaches himself, and it is more of a struggle than he wants to admit to create distance. She doesn’t move, doesn’t pursue. Only watches him, still and silent.  
“That is the dark side talking,” he rebukes in a low voice, shaking his head, “not you.” She just gives the smallest shake of her own head back.  
“I speak for myself.”  
“You let the dark speak through you.”  
“Have you known me to let anything control me, Obi-Wan?” Her eyes flash gold, and his breath catches. “I am not a prisoner, nor shall I ever be. You know the Force, Obi-Wan. You do not control it, but nor can you allow it to control you.” She holds his gaze, “My words are my own. My offer is my own.”  
“And your master?” His blue eyes are hard.  
“My master has no designs on your fate,” she replies.  
“But _you_ do?”

She’s quiet, just watching him for a long moment until she strides up to him once more, keeping her voice between them.  
“I have designs on my own fate, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Take my offer, and you become part of it.” She doesn’t give him time to respond—just breezes past him and before he can react, she vaults herself over the balcony edge, disappearing into the maze of traffic below. He supposes it’s just as well.

•

Another meeting, over a standard year and even more of their brief encounters later, in a seedy cantina in an outpost in the western reaches. He senses her, seeks her out in the crowd, finds her in a dim corner booth with two others, both of whom immediately disperse when he approaches.  
“You’re alone,” she greets, offering a cheerful smile. He sits across from her, glancing around.  
“I can’t say much for your choice of venue,” he remarks, and she sighs, nodding.  
“Mm, I much prefer when you choose, I must say; though I wasn’t expecting your company.”  
“Entirely by accident, I assure you,” he replies dryly, “I do hate to intrude on your time.”  
“Do you? I quite enjoy when you do, what a pity,” she smiles, and he just watches her in the low light. She doesn’t _look_ Sith, she only looks...lovely. She looks like Padmé Amidala, like any other woman in the galaxy and so much different, because of who she is and who she has been. She’s more than lovely, she’s clever, strong. She’s a leader. She’s _beautiful_.  
“What do you want, Padmé?” He asks, quiet.  
“You,” she replies, simple and even, without hesitation, without any insincerity in her voice or in her eyes. It takes him aback.  
“ _Me_.” He repeats, as if that might change the word or its meaning. Her expression stays steady. “Why?”  
“Because I can sense it in you, the longing for a life that is your own to take and control and _enjoy_ , without being told that sacrifice is the only way. The desire for your own desires,” her eyes are burning into his, in a way that warms him to his bones. “To savor them without repentance or shame.”  
“And what,” he levels her with his own stare, leaning across the table slightly, “do you know about my desires?” She just smiles.  
“You’d love to find out,” she replies, and slides out of the booth seat, brushing past him and gliding fingers over his shoulder as she does. She leans in just a moment to graze his ear with her lips, “and I’d love to show you.”  
She’s heading for the exit.

Against all better judgement, he follows.


	10. tea leaves are a form of divination, you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another tumblr request! this time for some modern au obidala <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no warnings for this one--unless you don't like coffee or tea! c;

“You know, there’s someone else who gets this exact same order,” Flora remarks as she hands him his drink, leant over the counter slightly. His regular barista in the mornings that always knows his order—today she’s grinning in her green apron and her flower earrings, holding out his usual summer morning order: grande iced london fog tea latte with an extra tea bag and one packet of brown sugar.

Obi-Wan blinks, glancing from the latte back to Flora.

“The _exact_ same?” From behind her, at the espresso machine, Vera nods.

“Yep. Right down to the packet of brown sugar—do you know her?” She glances up under a raised brow. “I figured you HAD to, since literally no one else I’ve ever had has ordered this _particular_ beverage.” Flora laughs, nodding.  
“I mean she’s right— _do_ you know her? Comes in most mornings around 7AM, like yea high, somehow single, brown hair, nice smile, cute beauty mark—“ Vera snorts as Flora trails off some and Obi-Wan racks his brain.  
“Did you get her name?”  
“She always says to just write ‘Ami’. Like...real secretive, I’m into it.” Obi-Wan chuckles at this and nods, taking a sip of his drink.  
“Well...maybe I’ll catch her next time.”

•

Three days later he’s back, a little after 7AM. He’s forgotten all about the mystery tea woman until on his way into the morning line, he hears his name and sees Flora behind the counter gesturing hurriedly—but he turns too late and only catches sight of long curling hair and a floral sundress as they walk out the door.

Flora and Vera both groan and facepalm behind the counter before turning back to finish their orders.

•

This happens on two more occasions. Flora mentions the third time that she asked the woman about him, but Vera chimes in that no, ‘Ami’ didn’t know a ‘probably in his thirties blond dude with a beard and pretty eyes, always wears button downs, somehow still inexplicably single’, but that she said she’d like to if he likes the same tea—and Flora shrugs.  
“God this is some real ships in the night stuff,” she sighs dreamily, and Obi-Wan just laughs, even if he’s gone a bit pink.

•

It’s a morning that he’s not in the best of moods and running a little late due to the downpour outside that he pops back in for his usual; but Flora and Vera aren’t there. Luckily he knows Jack, who waves and gives him a thumbs up, which Obi-Wan assumes means he’s got his order coming along.

When he gets to the counter, he pays, and Jack’s partner (who Obi-Wan only knows by face, really) rushes up with a few orders, and doesn’t use names:

“Venti iced dirty chai, grande pink drink, tall sweet cream cold brew extra sugar, and a grande iced london fog tea latte with an extra tea bag and brown sugar!”

So of course he turns to take his cup, except there’s a small, slender, and perfectly manicured hand that brushes his on the cool plastic.

Obi-Wan pauses.

The hand, it turns out, belongs to a woman who has to be his ‘tea twin’ as the girls have been calling her—she’s a good head shorter than him, slim and pretty with honey brown eyes and deep brown hair, and he has to admit Flora’s right, the beauty mark _is_ cute. Another floral outfit today: pink and white flowers on a loose, thin blouse, and a pair of yellow dress pants. She looks like she works in an office.

“I’m sorry I think this is mine,” she says, but she’s looking him up and down in a curious way that makes his face go a little pink.  
“No, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have assumed—“ he shakes his head and she tilts hers just slightly, taking the drink and finally nodding.  
“It’s all right, no harm.”

And just like that she walks away, but he doesn’t see her glance back before she’s out the door and into the rain.

•

It’s sunny next time. Flora nearly vaults over the counter when she sees him, later in the morning than usual.

“YOU’RE JOKING, THE _ONE_ TIME YOU TWO MEET AND WE WEREN’T EVEN _HERE_ —“ she paddles the counter with her hands eagerly, “I need details,” she says while tapping his order into the computer, “are you in love already, what was she wearing, did she just fall into your arms—“

“Ah—“ Obi-Wan coughs a bit, rubbing his chin, “no, I’m afraid there wasn’t anything like that...”

“Jack said you almost took her drink and you two ‘stared longingly for like 30 seconds in front of a lobby full of people like we were in a datenight Netflix movie’ but that she left,” Vera raises an eyebrow as she slides his drink across the counter, “soooo during all of that did you get her name, or what?” Obi-Wan clears his throat and takes a deep breath, taking his drink and trying to retain an air of dignity.

“I did not.”

•

It’s raining again.

He’s supposed to have the day off but he’s decided to finish up a little extra work on his personal laptop—which he’s got settled in front of him at a table next to the front windows, along with a blueberry scone and his usual iced tea latte.  
Starbucks is surprisingly empty, which is fine with him, but that just makes it all the more noticeable when She walks in.

Damp curls and a lavender umbrella that she shakes out carefully, and behind the counter Flora makes a strangled sort of noise that makes Obi-Wan look away instinctively.

The woman orders.

He sits at his little table and tries to focus on his laptop screen, internally debating over whether or not he should say something. There’s next to no one else in the dining room and the other three people have headphones on anyways.

He can also see Vera trying to get his attention already.

Her drink’s almost ready and he’s still fighting himself on _‘is it too weird to walk up to her and say something or not’,_ and he barely hears them call ‘Ami’—and he realizes he’s probably too late in deciding to go for it and hurriedly jolts up out of his seat—only for her to be standing next to his little window table, with her drink in hand and a croissant on a plate.

She smiles, and he swallows, completely blind to the two baristas excitedly leaning over the counter together to watch.  
“Hi,” she greets pleasantly, and he feels a little frozen just standing there but she continues, “I’m off today, and Flora behind the counter has been making a very compelling case that you might be my soulmate based on our drink preferences,” her eyes crinkle and there’s laughter in her voice, but it’s sweet rather than derisive. “I didn’t get to really say much last time, I was running late. But if you have a minute today I thought I would at least meet you properly.” He feels a little stunned by all of this, but finally just smiles, chuckling and nodding.  
“Flora makes a convincing matchmaker,” he agrees, and gestures to the empty chair. “If you’d like to sit down—I’ve got the day off myself.” She glances at his laptop and then phone, and then back at him.  
“I’m not bothering you am I?”  
“Not at all.” He shuts the laptop and stows it in his bag beside the table before facing her again. She’s set her croissant down and she’s smiling and he takes a little breath and smiles back. “I’m not sure our matchmaker has already told you, but I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.” He offers a hand, and she takes it, looking very intrigued.

“Absolutely not the name I was expecting,” she replies honestly, her smile widening, “I like it. My name is Padmé Amidala.”


End file.
